


Pageturner

by hellzabeth



Category: Original Work, Pageturner (Original Work)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Soft Magic System, well semi-soft anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellzabeth/pseuds/hellzabeth
Summary: Saria has known nothing but the Great Library of Alexra for as long as she can remember. She's grown up in these dusty halls, looking up to the Royal Librarians who are on a mission to make a copy of every book in the world. It's a peaceful but fulfilling life, and one she hopes to never leave behind.Until one day she finds her whole world ablaze, and is thrust out into the cold unknown beyond.Clutching the last and most precious book of her library, and pursued by the army that torched her home, Saria must find a way to make sense of this world she formerly only knew from pages and parchment - and it's got more surprises for her than she'd ever dreamed.[An original work set in a fantasy world slightly divorced from our own, featuring political games, lesbian romance, and magic. Rated T for violence in later chapters. CW: child abuse, war, abandonment.]
Relationships: Saria/Reis
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

Dust floats in the air, suspended in sunbeams that stream in between the hanging curtains and the thick stone pillars that hold up the roof of the Royal Library of Alexra. In Saria’s opinion, seeing those little specks hang still in the light, in the silence, makes it seem like time has stopped. The noise of the carts, horses, and people in the city beyond never reached that deep into the building itself, muffled by hundreds of bookshelves and thousands of tomes and scrolls and pages. Being situated on one of the many hills of the city, it is elevated above the lingering smells of civilisation, from the sun-baked city streets to the ocean port’s stench of fish, which Saria appreciates greatly. There is only the musty smell of old paper and ink to keep the Librarians company.

Saria isn’t a Librarian. Not officially, with a capital L, at any rate - to become a Royal Librarian, one needed to pass a number of tests, exams and such, and then you would get a lovely certificate from the king, and you could boast of having met him and, more importantly, your ability to handle all the rare books you could ever dream of. 

No, unfortunately, to take those tests in the first place, you need to have proof of citizenship of Alexra. Saria doesn’t have that, or proof of citizenship of anywhere, really. She considers herself a citizen of the world of literature, but only in the way that you have to have something slightly witty to say to people when they ask where you’re from, and don’t want to tell them you’re an orphan with no roots or documents to speak of. She finds the latter response rather spoils the mood and makes things unnecessarily awkward.

Speaking of awkwardness… 

“Saria!” An echoing call punctuates the silence of the library, accompanied by a chorus of “shhh!” noises. The owner of the voice, typically, doesn’t pay much heed to these chidings, or indeed to anyone else’s feelings in particular. And being as she has currently secluded herself in what she knows to be a dead end amongst the library’s maze of bookshelves, Saria realises with a sinking feeling that she has nowhere to hide. “Saria, where are you?”

“She’s in the maps section, your highness, but _ please _ stop shouti--”

“SARIAAA!”

Her poor ears. The poor books. Reluctant, but willing to sacrifice her patience and hearing for the sake of the Library - as pretty soon if he couldn’t find her, he’d start pulling books off the shelves to look behind them for her - Saria steps out from her corner to meet the prince.

About half a head shorter than her but carrying himself at all times with the same pompous air as a conqueror sat atop a mighty steed, Prince Midias of Prash can frequently be found at the Royal Library of Alexra. Very rarely is his purpose ever to actually _ read _ the books there, and even rarer is it that he has official business. No, he mostly just likes to strut about like he owns the place, which he doesn’t, yet. The day King Obion passes the kingdom (and more importantly the Library) to his son is going to be a one for the history books… in a variety of likely unpleasant ways. Hopefully that day will be a long way off, as the king is still barely in his middle years, and in good health, may the gods preserve.

Midias catches sight of Saria and immediately smirks victoriously, tossing his long, greasy, wheat-coloured hair out of his face as he saunters up to her. He stops in front of her and leans against a bookshelf in a manner that she’s sure he thinks is casual and friendly, but actually comes across as thoughtless and disrespectful. Those poor books… getting his skin oils all over those antique leather hardback covers! She’ll have to clean them after he goes away.

“Hey babe, come here often?” he grins at her. She cannot muster anything more than a stiff, polite smile back. 

“I live here, your highness.”

He laughs at that like she’s told him the best joke he’s heard in weeks, which she hasn’t, because they have this exchange nearly every time he comes in here. He says some obnoxious, weirdly obvious statement, and she replies politely but dryly, and he always laughs for some reason she doesn’t understand. 

“Listen, Saria, I had a question I wanted to ask you,” he says, running his hand through his hair and she swears, if he touches any of the pages with his hair grease all over his fingers… gods, he’s so gross. Wait, he’s talking. He’s been talking a lot. How long did she zone out staring at the grossness? “... so what do you think?”

“... I’m sorry?”

“About my idea! Father won’t leave me alone about the whole thing, says it’s a bad plan, but what does he know! I think you’re super smart, though, you gotta be after being around all these books all the time. So, who else would I ask? Anyway, what do you think of it? You’re being so silent it’s making me nervous.”

“... yes. Sure. Sounds great.”

“Hah!” he shouts, pumping his fist and grinning. “I knew it! I always knew!” Suddenly, he grasps her hands, with his _ gross gross gross sweaty squishy sticky hot hands ew ew ew-- _“-- won’t regret this, Saria, you really won’t!” 

“I already think I do,” she wheezes, her skin crawling. 

“Hahah! You’re hilarious, Saria, it’s the deadpan way you tell ‘em!” he releases her hands, and it’s all she can do not to immediately wipe them on her cotton tunic until the feeling goes away. Thankfully, Midias is already leaving. “I’ll be back to finalise everything tomorrow evening! Don’t go anywhere!”

“... you know I won’t,” she mutters. Even having known Midias since they were both very small children, Saria can never quite calm herself around him. He unsettles her, not in the way that she read about in romance novels where the character’s heart beats fast and her face gets hot with embarrassment. More like, in adventure stories when the hero faces a particularly ugly monster with a bad smell, but they have to endure it anyway. 

Not that she is any sort of hero, or adventurer, or protagonist, she thinks to herself as she kneels by the fountain in the courtyard, and scrubs and scrubs her hands and then her wrists and her forearms until she starts to feel slightly less gross. If she were anything, she would probably be the advisor, the character in the background who gives the protagonist a needed piece of advice or part of the plot. Or, she would like to think, perhaps some sort of wise old magician, if she ever lived to such an age. 

“Another encounter with the prince?” comes a reedy old voice from across the fountain. Saria looks up and sighs in relief. It’s only Milya, the oldest Librarian. Her is hair sheer white and her back is crooked from time spent bending over desks copying manuscripts so the Library would always have at least one spare version - as per its mission. She squints her fading eyes through half-moon glasses at her. “Your hands are turning red, girl.”

Saria stops scrubbing. “Why won’t he just leave me alone…”

Milya raises an eyebrow at that, stepping further out of the shadow of the high wall that separates the courtyard and librarian living quarters from the rest of the city. Despite the hustle and bustle of town being just a small way beyond the stones, the height of the wall and the sheer cliff beyond it meant that even this little sanctuary was silent. When Saria was little, she used to sit on top of the wall and watch the people move around down below, like little ants but with carts. 

“Why do you think?” Milya says, breaking her out of her musings.

“I don’t know! I’ve never understood why he does things! His head’s too full of his ego to fit anything else in anyway,” she scowls at the distorted reflection of herself in the water. Wiry, dark hair, brown skin, yellowish eyes blinking behind round spectacles… it’s not like she possesses any particular beauty that someone would go out of their way to find. And she isn’t socially graceful by any means, so it couldn’t be her charms or flattery. “He’s just weird. He’s weird and I don’t like him.”

By now, Milya has moved around the edge of the fountain to sit by her, but not too close. She knows that Saria doesn’t like being touched suddenly at times - one of many facts that she’s carefully observed and noted about her that Midias hasn’t, despite knowing her for a roughly equal amount of time. Still, her presence is a comfort, and it banishes that skin-crawling feeling all the more. The two sit in silence for a while, until Saria feels calm again.

“... stew for dinner?” she offers, and gets a nod of approval from Milya. “Did Naima get more carrots in…?”

“No, but she did get those sweet ones that are similar. You know. The ones the traders are bringing in from the north east.”

“Parsnips? Orpa will complain again.”

“Orpa is a grown woman and can eat around the ‘parsnips’ if she’s that fussy about it. Namia will happily finish what she doesn’t. Really now. Back in my day, we were glad for whatever we managed to get, doubly so if it was exotic and came from so far away! All the recent improvements in our nation’s seafaring abilities, not to mention the trade agreements with those new settlements abroad… if it weren’t for King Obion, it would still be what I had to put up with as a little girl: wheatcakes! Dry! With _ perhaps _ some cured meat if you were very lucky!” Milya sniffs, shaking her head in disapproval at the youth of today. “None of this sweet stuff, none of this _ fresh meat _ at a price you can actually afford more than once a month. And you know what? We didn’t know much better, so we liked it! Wheatcakes, every day, without a single complaint.”

Despite Milya going on and on for just as long as Midias usually did, Saria never once tuned out or got bored. From the very beginning, Milya’s voice, with its slightly scratchy quality and droning intonation, was something that she could listen to for hours. And she used to - asking her to explain difficult concepts she found in books, stories a little too complex for a little girl, and even random miscellanea. 

“... do you want wheatcakes _ with _ the stew?”

Milya flaps a hand at her and pulls a face, standing and moving towards the kitchen. In colder months, this room was often the focal point of the librarians’ quarters, thanks to the nice big oven, and the large, old table they all sat around. “Gods, no, I’ve eaten enough of those to last me my whole life. Let’s have proper bread.”

Saria moves to a cupboard as they enter the room, opening it. “... ah. The bread’s gone all…” she picks up the previous day’s loaf, which has turned an odd blackened colour, starting to crumble in Saria's hands. Milya does a double-take at it, and comes closer to inspect it.

“What on…” she mutters, taking it from Saria’s hands and turning it over. She spends an unusually long time just looking at it, but Saria agrees that it’s odd for it to have gone off so quickly. “... well, nevermind. The grocer’s already been and gone, could you go down to market and buy a new loaf?”

Anxiety seizes Saria’s throat in an iron grip. “... do I have to?”

“It’s only down to the docks, Saria. Just a straight line, there and back, broad daylight,” Milya pats Saria’s arm sympathetically. “It’ll take you maybe 20 minutes. You can do that.”

She can’t. Leaving the Library is always terrifying. It’s noisy, and loud, and there are people that try to talk to her and she can never find her words in time to say something back. The sunlight feels heavier out there, and the air thick like soup, exhausting to move under. It's much easier to read about Alexra, or to watch it from a distance, than it is to move through it. A beautiful and thriving port city, capital of the Kingdom of Prash, home to millions and now a great trading superpower… she could rattle off the statistics all day, but it didn’t make it any less intimidating.

“I’ll give you a little extra coinage,” Milya says, rummaging around in a small purse tied to her belt. “And you can buy yourself a jam tart. Hm?”

Bribery. Drat. “Milya, I’m not a little girl any more…” Saria says, trying not to be immediately swayed by the concept of fresh, sweet tarts. 

“You’ll always be little to me, Saria, 18 summers passed or not!” Milya declares, pressing three silver coins into one of Saria’s hands, and a wicker basket from a pile in the corner into the other. “Now if you hurry, you’ll get there before the bakery closes. Hop to it!”

Resigned to her fate, Saria ventures out into the streets.

\-----

All in all, it isn’t terrible. She counts among her victories that she managed to force herself to raise her head two entire times. Once while on the way down the hill towards the bakery, in order to look at the view over the terracotta tiled roofs of the city to the sparkling sapphire ocean and the hundreds of merchant ships bobbing on its surface. And then, again, to actually speak to the baker, a friendly woman who insisted on giving Saria an extra tart to add to the one she already bought, and the bread. Despite Saria not saying anything about it, the baker said she was sorry about the blackened bread, and that apparently an entire batch from the previous day had turned unexpectedly rancid. Saria had mumbled something like ‘don’t worry about it’, and then fled the scene with heart pounding. But no stumbling over herself, no choking on her words today. It went as well as it could, for her.

Still, returning to the Library is like surfacing from the depths of the unforgiving ocean, and she heaves a huge sigh of relief once back in the shade of its pillars and drapes and tall roof. Depositing the fresh bread in the kitchen for Namia and Orpa to make dinner with, she steals away into her own living quarters with her real prize of jam tarts.

Being as she isn’t, and never would be an official Librarian, Saria did not get an actual room in the Librarians’ Quarters, like the others did. Above the normal living spaces, there is a small attic, usually used for storage in times passed, but long since transformed into a cosy living quarters just for her. Cooled by circulating air in the summer, and warmed by the fires below in the winter, Saria’s corner had accumulated a lot of blankets, pillows, and other assorted ornaments over the years. A large mound of pillows provided her bed, and at least one of the sheets was currently being utilised as a curtain for some privacy. 

Saria didn’t keep books in here - it would be all too easy to knock them over in her sleep, or otherwise damage them. Instead, she had collected other strange objects that had found their way to the library - a stool she used as a table since it was so oddly wide and yet low sat; a metal goblet that refills itself by means of trickery; a strange device made of gears that, if you turned it at the correct speed, sounded like it was making music. And that was just the start. The origins of all these items were by and large a mystery, but they couldn’t be categorised like everything else in the library, nor were they wanted or needed by anyone, so it seemed fitting, to Saria, that they stay with her.

Dinner goes as expected - Orpa complains about the parsnips, Namia eats them for her, Milya rolls her eyes at the whole display, and Saria chews in silence. At the end, she washes up while the others speak about matters to do with copying and preservation. Three more scribes had submitted applications to lend their services to copying texts, but only one has even _ slightly _ passable handwriting. Orpa wants to hire one of them because he’s attractive. Saria swiftly leaves the room and crawls back into her attic corner before she can get dragged into the argument.

Saria goes to sleep, as she often does, to the sound of voices that, even when bickering, never shout.

\-----

She awakes in stages. First, the crackle of fire. Then, the heat pricking at her skin. Then, the smell of smoke. 

On her feet quickly, Saria blinks her eyes clear of sleep as fast as possible, knowing she doesn’t have much time. Fires in the Royal Library are rare, but in a place with this much old, dry paper, a single ember from a wick of a candle could set an entire section alight. She slides down the ladder that leads up to her little corner of the loft, and runs straight to the courtyard, grabbing a bucket from beside the fountain and filling it with water.

“FIRE!” she yells at the top of her lungs. “FIRE! EVERYONE UP, FIRE!”

As she strains her ears for the sounds of people getting out of bed to come grab more buckets and help, she realises she can hear something else.

People are screaming. 

Not in the library, beyond it, in the city. As she looks up over the courtyard wall, she can see the entire night sky tinged orange and grey with flame and smoke. Horses bray and whinny in a panic, the clash of sword and steel makes her hair stand on end, the desperate cries of people dying fill her ears. 

The books are burning behind her. She can’t allow horror to paralyse her at a time like this. No matter what is happening over the wall, she has to save the Library. The Library is everything, every book that comes through Alexra on any ship of any kind is copied and stored here, all the knowledge in the world, all the history, all the meaningful stories that would be lost--!

Her attempt to dash into the library with a bucket of water is barred by a familiar figure.

“Milya, thank the gods, the Library, get a bucket-!”

Instead of grabbing her own bucket, Milya takes Saria’s, and then upends it over Saria’s head, drenching her to the bone. She yelps in surprise, but doesn’t have time to do more than that, as Milya grabs her wrist and runs--

“No, the Library--” sobs Saria, “We’re going the wrong way!”

“Quiet, girl! Be quiet and run!” 

“But-!”

She can’t argue and run at the same time, her lungs aren’t good enough and the smoke chokes her anyway. Ash sticks to her clothes but the flames that lick close enough to singe Milya’s white hair, the flames-- 

“Milya!” 

“Go, go, go!”

\-- don’t hurt Saria, they can’t, her clothes are sodden and skin too wet to burn. A great groan fills the air as she can hear the wooden shelves of the Library collapse under the heat of the fire, and Saria can’t help but sob. 

This isn’t happening.

This _ can’t _ be happening.

She isn’t really here, this can’t be real, this isn’t--

A sharp slap brings her blinking back into focus. Milya has burns all down her right side, and her sleeping tunic is almost singed off her completely. Large blisters are forming on her old, wrinkled skin. She isn’t wearing her half moon glasses and her hair has come loose from its usual bun. Her fingers, rough from years of papercuts and binding books, grasp Saria’s face. 

“Look at me! Look at me Saria.”

“I- I am-! Milya, you’re--”

“Never mind me, I’m old and dying anyway! You, you have to live, Saria. You have to get out of here and live!”

“What are you talking about?! Where would I go to! The Library is--”

“It’s gone, Saria! The Library is ash! It is only in our hearts and our memories now! But it doesn’t matter, a library can be remade, rebuilt, a life _cannot_!”

It occurs to her that they’re standing in the street, a street she doesn’t know, an unfamiliar road leading up away from the city, towards the dark hills that surround it. She’s never left the library before, not for long. Never been this far away from the only home she’s ever known. There isn’t much smoke here, but there are people, hundreds of people, running or limping or dragging something, trying to calm horses and donkeys, trying to quiet screaming children. 

A wagon pulls up next to them. The old man from the market who brought groceries to the library every day hops off the front of it, and tries to take Saria’s arm. She jerks away from him. “No! Milya, I don’t understand, I don’t get any of this!”

Milya’s wizened old fingers grip Saria’s face hard enough to hurt. “Ilra Ka!” she whispers the word - name? - low enough that the chaos around them almost downs it out. “Remember. Ilra Ka did this. No warlord, no conqueror, no ruler we recognise. Ilra Ka, from the shadows, did _ this _!”

And she forces Saria to look. She turns her head so she can’t help but gaze across the burning city below, the ocean full of ships escaping, full of bodies bobbing on the surface, the streets awash with blood and embers, no building untouched, no park or green space spared from the indifferent wrath of the flames. Even the palace, up on the hill across from the library, is burning bright as the midday sun. Is Midias inside? Is King Obion? Would there be anything for them to rule over, after this?

Isn’t this how the books always described Hell?

This time, when the merchant grabs her arm and pulls her into the wagon, she’s too frozen with horror to resist. Milya’s nails leave little half-moon crescents in her skin when she lets go. She presses something heavy into Saria’s arms, and Saria reflexively draws it close. A familiar shape. A book?

“Please be safe, Saria. And never doubt your worth.”

By the time she realises the wagon has started moving, Milya has completely vanished into the churning crowd. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the extremely talented Luka https://twitter.com/nousanti

Night fades into a grey and lifeless dawn. Smoke fills the sky and blots the sun, turning it into a pale, distant thing that brings no warmth and little light. Saria sits in the back of the wagon in silence, staring as the road behind her draws off into the distance. The hills have obscured the view of the ocean, and the only way she can tell where the city of Alexra once was is by the plumes of ash that still rise into the sky. She doesn’t dare blink, lest she lose sight of where home once was.

Walking becomes difficult for people, especially those with burdens. First the merchant takes pity on a young girl carrying her little sister, then an old woman who is not Milya but for a moment stirs a shimmer of hope in Saria’s heart, before it is quickly snuffed out when she speaks and her voice is all wrong. By noon, the horse has to stop by a river to drink and rest, and the cart is now full of people, young and old, all silent except for when they weep, and every person so covered in ash and soot that they blend into the sky and the earth like camouflage. 

_ Ilra Ka... _

What… or _ who _ is that? 

She’s never heard the name before last night, nor does she think she read about it in any book. But if it wasn’t in any of the books in the Library - her heart aches to think of it - then surely it doesn’t exist. After all, the Library is-- _ was _ the greatest collection of human knowledge in the world. If it’s something so important that Milya ask her so fervently to remember it, then why wouldn’t it be written down…?

She adjusts the weight of the book in her arms, and realises that she hasn’t even looked at what it is. Finally tearing her eyes off the horizon, she turns it over in her hands. It’s a thick, charcoal-stained leather bound book, decorated with gold inlay and metal corner protectors. The spine is nearly two inches thick, filling her whole palm comfortably when she holds it. There is no title on the front, but there is a decoration - a perfect circle enclosing a four pointed star, each point holding a very small pearl. 

It’s so precious and beautiful that she ends up staring at it in awe, swallowing heavily with emotion when she realises how glad she is that it was completely untouched by the fire. Such a marvellous book deserves to be preserved. She opens it and finds…

… she can’t read it.

These inscriptions are almost certainly a language, they have too much pattern and complexity not to be, but they’re not any kind she’s read before. Over her time in the Library, she’d learned, of course, to read Prashian, the de facto language of Alexra and the surrounding city states under King Obion’s command. She’d also picked up some passable Hindshokhani, Petean, and Albainese - though she’s sure her speaking accent in all these languages is terrible, since she has only ever learned from books. But this language doesn’t look like any of those, or any of their related sister languages or dialects. It doesn’t look like any of the ones from ancient holy texts either. 

Puzzled, Saria flips through the pages in hopes of finding illustrations that might shed some light on the content of the book. Thick paragraphs and illuminations of particular letters and characters give her pause to admire their penmanship and calligraphy, but there are no pictures or diagrams to help her. Still, for this to be the only thing saved from the Library, she would have to keep it safe, very safe, and decode it later. 

A hand gently bumps into her shoulder, and she looks towards it to find the merchant offering her a drink from a jug. She’s pretty sure this is the sort you water plants with, but she’s suddenly reminded of her thirst, and immediately snatches it from him, setting the book safely aside before gulping as much of the water down as she can. It’s only river water, but at that moment, nothing has ever tasted sweeter. 

“Woah there missy. You’ll drown yourself that way,” he chuckles in a good natured, weary way. “You’re Saria, right? The library orphan? Milya thought the world of you, kid, hope you know that.” With a heft and a grunt, he sits himself on the back of the wagon. Saria hands him back the jug, and he drinks a little water himself. “... looks like we’ll have to head somewhere else until things cool down in Alexra. I have cousins in Albaines. Good people. If we’re sly about it, I can probably get you through the port by sayin’ you’re my granddaughter. You can call me Papa Keion. Sound good?”

Albaines is hundreds of miles away across rocky hills and thick forest, not to mention a deep channel between it and the mainland. A journey like that means days, maybe weeks of riding in a wagon and hoping for the best. They have nothing but the clothes on their back and, from the looks of the wagon’s actual contents, a few sheets, some rope, and some empty barrels. No food. And carrying water would exhaust the horse.

“... how are we going to make that?” she asks quietly.

Keion rubs his grey stubbled cheek. “Well, we ain’t got much choice otherwise. Westward’s ocean and eastward’s all Hindshokhan, now they annexed Petea to the northeast too. Hindshokhanis from coast to coast, all along the east… I remember when that place was landlocked… it’s been an interestin’ couple of decades, tell ya that. And now they come to us...”

Of course, she’d read about current events, but the games that politicians and armies played had always seemed so harmless and far away until now. But...

“It wasn’t the Hindshokhanis…” she murmurs.

Keion twists a finger in his ear and digs out some soot. “Wazzat?”

“... nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Well, nothing ain’t makin’ us any progress. Let’s get rollin’, maybe we’ll make it to the channel before winter sets in,” and with that, he stands on the back of the wagon, stepping around his passengers until he gets to the front and can take up the reins again. “Walk on, Kolls!”

\----

They walk from sunrise, to sunset. Different people take turns on the wagon, but there’s no way for everyone to fit on it. When Saria looks behind and ahead of her, all she sees is an endless stream of people, weary and ash coloured, some nursing burns or other wounds. Sometimes the cart passes people on the side of the road who have sat down and don’t seem to be getting up again. She wants to jump off the wagon and pull them on, but she has no strength in her own limbs either. She can barely move at all.

The smoke towers that marked Alexra’s location have long since disappeared over the horizon. Now, she has no idea what direction she would go if she wanted to go home, other than to maybe follow the trail of thousands of bare feet in the dirt.

Night falls. It’s colder, up here in the rocky foothills of Prash, than it was down by the sea. The air is dry, not humid from the bay’s sun-warmed waters. The clouds cover all the stars in the sky, even the moon, leaving them in total darkness until someone sacrifices one of the empty barrels to build a fire, using an old, dead bush as kindling. Some people shy away from the heat and warmth - perhaps it’s just too soon, after seeing what they saw - but Saria feels the chill begin to set into her bones, and huddles up beside it. 

Keion passes her a small cup of water, which is gone before she even has time to appreciate it. She’s so tired that hunger doesn’t have a chance to enter her mind, but the cold that surrounds her makes it hard to be drowsy. The few blankets they have are given to the children with them, sooty faced and dull eyed. One woman, who has three of them huddled up against her, is talking to them softly. She has a voice that doesn’t hurt Saria’s ears to hear, and so eventually she ends up listening in to what she’s saying.

“... a story… well, once upon a time, when the world was still young, there were gods that walked the earth. Beautiful, and powerful, they gave the world life and magic,” the woman, who is probably too old to be these children’s mother, Saria realises, strokes the hair out of one child’s eyes. “But the old gods grew tired. They had spent too long on earth, where time marches ever onward. They needed to rest, in their godly realm outside of time. But they worried for the people of the earth. Without their guidance, how would humanity ever survive? Surely, they would just start fighting amongst themselves.”

It’s an old story, and one Saria has heard plenty of times before. The long departed gods of this world, their supposed concern for its fate, the reason why magic that apparently was once so abundant is now so rare. But the way the woman tells it keeps Saria listening.

“And so the gods discussed this, and came to a solution. They would leave behind a mortal race, one that would not get exhausted by endless immortality like they did, to guide the humans. They called this race the Mohra, and they were alike unto the gods themselves, except that they aged and died like humans. Mohra could always be distinguished by their beautiful, shimmering wings, which came in all colours of the rainbow, and their special ability to always know a person’s true intentions and character. With one look, they could tell a person with evil goals apart from a person with good goals.”

Simplified, Saria thinks, for the sake of children - good and evil are difficult to actually define in real life, after all. What the Mohra really protect, according to all her readings, is the balance of the world. Keeping the perfect harmony between chaos and order - too much chaos and things would never progress, too much order and the world stagnates.

“And so, the old gods left the world in the care of the humans and the Mohra. Quickly, the Mohra found themselves as trusted advisors and selectors of rulers, keeping kings and queens and emperors and khans and jarls on the path of justice and fairness.”

“Does Hindshokhan have a Mohra?” asks one of the children, a little girl with red hair and a large burn on her arm that she keeps changing a wet compress on. 

“... yes, darling, they do,” the woman says quietly.

“But then why are they doing bad things like burning Alexra? The Mohra should tell them no. It…” the girl suddenly looks conflicted. “It wasn’t… a good thing, to burn Alexra, right? We weren’t bad, right?”

The woman hugs the child close, careful of her burn. She doesn’t seem able to respond to that, but the girl keeps going, though quietly.

“Does King Obion have a Mohra?”

“... no. No he doesn’t. The King’s Mohra died… many years ago. So, many countries don’t recognise us as a true nation any more. They think it’s okay for them to invade us, because without a Mohra, they say we’re not a real kingdom.”

‘_ And who are they to decide?’ _ Saria thinks to herself, a bitter anger surging up at the back of her throat like bile. _ ‘We’re surviving this whether they like it or not.’ _

“That’s a right stormy face you got there, kid,” Keion snaps her out of her thoughts as he comes and sits beside her, having finished passing around drinks to people. “Wanna talk about it?”

Saria opens her mouth, but as usual, it happens. All the words, in their attempt to barge their way out together, get jammed in the exit, and she just chokes on them. All that comes out, after a few attempts, is a strangled wheeze. Keion smiles patiently at her.

“It’s fine if you can’t, you know. Hard to get the right words for this sorta feeling,” he turns his gaze towards the fire. “... not the first time I had to flee a country. You’re probably too young to remember when Petea was still around. Buncha mountains and islands, all the way in the north of the continent.”

For lack of words, Saria nods. Of course she’s read all about it. That kingdom, extinguished in a single night by invading Hindshokhani forces. She thought it was fascinating to read about their strategies, at least, until it happened to Alexra.

“Well, I was a travelling merchant before I settled down in Alexra. Freezing cold, up in Petea, dunno what Hindshokhanis from the tropics would want with it. The ore in the mountains, I suppose. Bragging rights to conquering the kingdom once thought to be so naturally fortified that nobody could take it,” he picks up a nearby log, and throws it onto the fire. It crackles and sizzles and Saria thinks of the collapsing wooden bookshelves. “What they want with Prash, and specifically Alexra, is much clearer. Our fishing trade is second to none, and our ports are wealthy with spices and all that stuff from abroad, as of late. Didn’t used to be, but King Obion’s investment in improving them sure made them attractive to conquerors. Brave, or stupid, for a ruler with no Mohra.”

Saria doesn’t know how to say that she doesn’t think the king is stupid. Was stupid. All her memories of him, from when she was small, are of a kind, smiling, generous man. Enormously tall and broad shouldered with a strong, dark beard and gentle eyes. And, most importantly to her, a clear but soft voice. The complete opposite of his son, essentially. 

Keion stretches, joints popping, and sighs. “Well, I’m gonna hit the hay. Gotta be alert for travelling tomorrow, you never know when bandits will show up. They got no morals, won’t care about attacking refugees if it means a quick coin or two,” he stands, and smiles down at her. “Keep that pretty book of yours close, okay?”

He doesn’t need to tell her twice. She hasn’t let it out of her sight - hasn’t let it leave contact with her body at all - since she first got it. And when exhaustion finally claims her, she falls asleep holding it to her chest, cradling the last piece of home she’ll ever have.

\----

For the second day in a row, Saria is given a rude awakening, this time by the sound of someone tipping over Keion’s cart with a crash, and a panicked whinny from Kolls the horse. Adrenaline has her sitting up and curling around her book before she does anything else, before she can even focus her eyes on the world around her. Boots in the dirt, men shouting, children crying and women pleading. The sound of sword being drawn from sheath.

“Stop, gentlemen, stop!” Keion’s voice speaks above the cacophony. “Please, we beg of you, have mercy! We are only travellers!”

“Travellers?” an unfamiliar tone speaks back, accented heavily. Hindshokhani. “You are from Alexra. I can tell.”

Saria’s eyes are beginning to clear of sleep. The morning has dawned and the fire is out. The majority of the refugees, it seems, have moved on, leaving only those who slept by Keion’s fire - a few women and children, some older men, Keion, and Saria herself. In stark contrast to the people who clearly slept rough, half a troop of Hindshokhani soldiers, in their deep purple uniforms with silver and gold decorations and hardy steel swords, stand alert and well groomed. They sneer down at the people before them, some from horseback, others stood beside their mounts. One of them is holding the little red-haired girl at swordpoint, as she chokes back her tears as bravely as she can.

“No, sirs, no, we are merely passing through, we have no nation,” Keion is trying to convince them, and for a merchant, he lies well. It seems the man he is talking to is the leader of the soldiers - he looks older and his uniform is more decorated. “Just a group of travellers from all over.”

“Hm, is that so…” the leader says, then catches Saria looking, and points his blade at her. “You, girl, where are you from?”

Keion tries to move in front of her. “That’s--”

“Hindshokhan,” Saria blurts before her brain catches up with her. Oh no, oh _damn it!_ Why did her words manage to escape her _now_?! Whatever, abandon all thought, just start talking! “<... I’m from the great city Ashok, in Hindshokhan. A long time ago. I had nothing, no family. Papa Keion picked me up, I came with him.>” Gods, she hopes her accent is passible. Maybe they’ll mistake it for one picked up along a long road traveled through life. “<Please, noble sir, we humbly beg you for your mercy, for your caste is greater.>” All the formal platitudes she picked up from reading about noble houses and the Hindshokhani caste system, don’t fail her now!

The leader of the soldiers looks at her with raised eyebrows. Keion is doing the same, before he schools his expression back. “<My Hindshokhani words bad, noble sir. But, we humbly beg your mercy.>” 

“<... if you have nothing, lower-girl, what is that?>” the leader waves his sword at her book, and her heart freezes.

“<My only possession. From my mother. I am a lower-girl, I cannot read, but to hold it is to feel close to her,>” and as she speaks, she feels tears spring to her eyes. Why? She doesn’t have time to soul-search, she should use them nonetheless. “<Please. We humbly beg you for leniency.>”

A tense silence passes. The soldier lowers his sword, then sheaths it. “<Lalam, put that little red brat down.>”

The little girl is released, and she stumbles onto her knees and crawls back to the same woman from last night, still not daring to cry even as she hides herself in her arms. Saria breathes a shaky sigh of relief. But it seems the soldiers aren’t done.

“<Lower-girl, give me the pearls from the front of your book, and we’ll leave you be.>”

Saria’s not sure her heart can take more of this. Keion looks sharply at her as she takes in the breath to immediately tell the soldier ‘no’, and it freezes her tongue. “Let him have the pearls,” Keion says. “They’re only little things. The book is still the same without them.”

No, it’s not. It’s not the same, this whole book and every part of it is all she has left. Every pearl is a piece of her home, and to give them away to some random Hindshokhani soldiers would be like giving away parts of herself to them. In fact, she would rather that first, before ever letting any harm come to this book--

There is the shaft of an arrow sticking out of the neck of the lead soldier. It’s fletched, she absently thinks, with sparrow feathers. The man falls down dead on the ground in front of her, as the remaining soldiers redraw their swords with shouts of alarm, looking around the rocky, scrub-brush landscape they stand in. “<Bandits!>”

A loud holler comes from behind a stony outcropping from the side of a hill, and suddenly the mountainside is swarmed by a dozen men on horses, galloping at speed towards the Hindshokhanis. The soldiers can’t get back in the saddle fast enough, and the ones who were already mounted barely manage to pull their weapons before the bandits are upon them, hooting and calling and riding around them them chaotically. Saria can’t keep up with the cacophony, and crouches down where she is, wrapping her body around the book and covering her head. She feels Keion crouch beside her, but beyond that, everything is too much for her head to distinguish from each other. 

It feels like hours pass, but it was more likely only a few minutes before all the soldiers are dead, and their weary group is now only surrounded by bandits, who are all a good deal more riled up and loud. Out of the frying pan and into the fire…

“Orraaaa!” one of the bandits hollers in victory, and the cry is echoed. “Hindshokhani bastards! How’d ya like the taste of my Petean steel! Cold and clean like a mountain top!” 

Saria risks a peek at the speaker. Mounted on a grey horse that can’t seem to stay still, this one bandit gives Saria great pause. She can’t immediately tell if they’re a man or a woman - their dark woven poncho hides their figure and their shorn-short blonde hair and strong jaw give her no clues. She catches sight of muscled, scarred forearms that grip reins and sword alike with calloused and steady hands, while strong, trouser-clad thighs keep them in a saddle that, apparently, only has simple leather stirrups. The person’s eyes - Saria’s never seen such green eyes before, never so bright - meet hers and for a moment, they seem to falter in their victorious yelling. 

“... huh. So, what do we have here, huh?” the person says, apparently to Saria. Even their voice doesn’t give her much clue, but she settles for now that this must be a man. After all, bandits are always men in her books.

“... just some travellers,” Keion answers for her, because her tongue has died again. But it’s not like usual, where all the words get stuck. Her heart is hammering against her ribs, surely from all the chaos just now, and her mind is suddenly a blank. 

“Hmmm? And do some travellers know what Hindshokhani soldiers are doing this far west, in the middle of Prash? Actually, ain’t we close to Alexra right now?” the bandit looks to his fellows, who nod in agreement. 

Keion frowns. “Alexra is sacked. Burned. Gone. Did you not know?”

The green eyed bandit reels back so hard his horse does the same. “What?! When?”

“One night past. The whole place, burned to the ground. We fled as far and fast as we could, but we have only one wagon,” Keion looks at his cart. One of the wheels is broken clean off. “... _ had _ only one wagon.”

The bandits, now all quieted by this news, are all looking to the green eyed one, who rubs the back of his neck, a frown on his face. “Tch. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s Hindshokhani soldiers. Hell’s bells… alright, where ya heading.”

“Albianes,” Keion replies cautiously. 

“Hmn. Good choice. Pretty much the only choice, at this point. Think you can swing by our camp over the hill first? We’ll fix your wagon up.”

Immediately suspicious, Keion inclines his head. “... why would you do that for us? We have nothing for you.”

The green eyed bandit shrugs a shoulder carelessly. “Eh. To spit on the last acts of these Hindshokhani wardogs,” and to punctuate that statement, he actually does spit on the motionless bodies by their feet. “Thinkin’ they’re so high and mighty. Just a buncha bullies.” 

Keion looks around their group, bedraggled and exhausted and hungry, and seems to struggle for a moment with himself, before sighing. “Alright. We’ll take your very generous offer, sir.”

For some reason this causes a chuckle to go around the bandits. It makes Saria nervous, but she still can’t say anything. She can’t even look away to try and count or identify how many bandits there _ are _ in front of her. Her whole vision is taken up by this strange new person.

Her arm is taken in Keion’s rough old hands, and she stands up shakily, joining the rest of the group as they limp their way to the bandits’ camp.

\----

It’s really not all that far to the camp itself, which is good, because in order to keep the wagon’s wheel on they have to fashion a crude bolt out of the stirrups of one of the Hindshokhani soldiers’ saddles. The bandits have taken all the soldiers’ horses as a prize for their actions of the day. (“Be a waste to set loose fine horses!” the green eyed bandit had laughed.) Saria walks behind the rest of the group, staring at the back of the green eyed bandit and having to look at the ground every time they turn and glance over their shoulder at her. As they round the steep side of a hill, a valley spreads out before them, and a settlement of tents, carts, and crude horse pens lies nestled within it. 

At first, Saria catches sight of a few bandits remaining at the settlement drawing their swords, but the green eyed bandit gives that same howl as he did earlier when coming to Saria’s rescue, and it seems the guard is dropped. As they descend into the valley, Saria catches the whiff of cooking meat in the air, and remembers all at once how she hasn’t eaten for a day and a half. The sudden reminder seems to turn her body against her, and lightheadedness makes her sway.

“Woah there,” says a voice as a hand steadies her shoulder from above. She blinks up at the owner and is met by those fascinating eyes again. “You alright? You don’t look great.”

She’s not able to get her words out, once more, but Keion comes to her rescue. “We haven’t eaten in a few days, sir, we’re all very tired too.”

“Huh, makes sense. Steady, Nairos,” he says, and the horse slows to a stop next to a rocky outcropping. Saria feels her steps get guided forward until she’s standing on top of it, almost level with the horse’s back, and then--

“Eek!” she squeaks as the bandit pulls her forward, only just managing to get her leg over onto the horse’s back. The saddle on the horse is nothing formal, a blanket and some leather straps, and she ends up sitting behind the bandit, clinging to his middle for stability and trying desperately not to drop her book with her other arm. Tall! Why are horses so tall?!

“What’s the matter, you never been on a horse before?” the bandit chuckles, and Saria can feel the vibrations of every laugh through his back, the ripple of muscle under the thick wool poncho and tunic they wear.

“N-no!” she whimpers, keeping her eyes closed. It’s not that she’s scared of heights - she’s spent enough time up very tall ladders to reach very high shelves to be thoroughly cured of that. It’s more that this is a lot all at once, and eliminating sight from the equation might help, somehow. She tries to shove the book up between the two of them, perhaps so the rider won’t feel her unsteady heart.

“City folk! Well, whatever, Nairos is a good girl, aren’t ya Nairos?” he pats the side of the horse’s neck. “She won’t throw ya off. Walk on!” And the horse continues the rest of the way down to the camp itself. 

The camp is a densely packed arrangement of surprisingly colourful tents and carts, much better taken care of than Saria would have expected out of common thieves. There are also a number of obvious non-combatants - elderly folk washing clothes, young women tending fires, and she spots, peeking out of a tent, what might be a young child with a small wooden toy. The bandits who came to save them are probably only a small number of the actual group, she realises. But why travel with people who would be liabilities if you suddenly had to run from the law? King Obion often sent out soldiers to deal with bandit problems on the roads of Prash, and such a large group would make fleeing difficult.

“Uncle Lor!” the green eyed bandit yells as they stop in the middle of the camp. “We killed some Hindshokhani scum!” 

“What?” comes a bellowing voice, and from within one of the larger tents, a broad-shouldered and white-bearded older man steps out. He sports considerable scars, and even a false right arm made of wood that he uses to gesture at the group. “This doesn’t look like Hindshokhani scum to me, Reis!”

Finally identified with a name, Reis flaps a hand around. “These guys were being harrassed by ‘em, and more to the point, Alexra has fallen.”

A stunned silence settles over the camp, all movement stopping. “... Hindshokhan has invaded Prash?” Lor utters in disbelief. “Now?”

“A night past, apparently. These guys are refugees. From the way those soldiers were acting, they were trying to keep anyone from getting out alive. Tch,” Reis clicks his tongue, and Saria can feel them tense with anger. “Bad enough you burn such a beautiful place to the ground, what about the innocent people…”

“This is very bad,” Lor rubs his beard in thought. “For Hindshokhan to make their way into Prash in such a way… well, we can discuss this later. Right now, these people look half starved. Someone get a stew on with that meat!” 

Reis swings himself gracefully off the horse and shakes his legs out, before offering a hand to Saria. He’s much taller standing than she thought he’d be - but she still hesitates to try and get down from the horse without falling. Apparently sensing her nervousness, Reis grins. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Swallowing, Saria tries to copy Reis’ movement when getting off the horse, only to immediately lose her balance and slip off with a squeak of fear. But before she can hit the ground, strong arms catch her and hold her close so she doesn’t fall over. Actually, held in Reis’ arms like this, her feet are still only barely skimming the floor. And more to the point…

“... you’re a woman?” Saria blurts out in surprise, pressed up against his-- _her_ chest. Reis snorts, amused.

“Yeah, I get that a lot. It’s the name, isn’t it. Prashian naming sense - ends in ‘a’ or ‘i’ for girls name and ‘s’ or ‘n’ for boys, right?”

Saria nods mutely in response, though doesn’t say that it was a whole lot more than the name that threw her off. She doesn’t think she’s ever met a woman like this before. Only graceful noble ladies came into the Royal Library to complete their studies of politics and law, and the official Librarians, while varying in age from middle aged Orpa and Nimia to however old Milya was, were strong enough to lift heavy tomes and not much more. 

“... hey, what’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“You’re crying.”

Saria wriggles free of Reis’ embrace and touches her cheek, feeling the hot tears there, spilling over. “Oh…”

She can sense Reis giving her a strange look, but she doesn’t have much time to think on it, as it’s not a few seconds more before everything suddenly crashes down on her all at once. Her legs give out on her as her breath comes out in stuttered sobs, and her hands shake as all the tears she had no idea she was holding back break loose from her. Her home, every person she ever knew, is really, truly gone. Even if she knew this as a fact before, the reality of it being completely out of her reach forever is suddenly too heavy for her to bear. She can’t find her breath, much worse than any time Midias had ever trapped her in a corner, and her head feels numb with grief, her throat raw.

How could she not feel this until now? Why did it take her this long to think of the fate of Orpa and Nimia, whom she never even saw leave the building in the fire? Did they make it out? Did smoke suffocate them before they could be roused from their beds? How could she not cry for Milya, who dragged her out to safety even as her own body burned, until this point? Was she some kind of monster? Some soulless, heartless creature?

“No, no,” a gentle voice is telling her, and she feels some sort of blanket around her shoulders. Someone’s shadow is over her and they’re holding her hand with theirs. “You’re not a monster. Sometimes you can only cry when it’s safe to. Sometimes you gotta hold it in just so you can live. That’s not a monster, that’s a survivor. I know they’d understand.”

_ “You have to live, Saria!” _

The truth of it both soothes and stokes the agony in her, because the memory of Milya’s kindness is also the memory of the loss of it. She feels herself being carried, and can’t even summon up any ability to protest. She sobs her pain out, until exhaustion claims her again.

\----

When she wakes up it’s dark, but she’s not cold. She’s lying on something surprisingly soft, and when she rolls over, she finds the texture is woolly. Her glasses aren’t on her face, so she feels around for them, and finds them neatly folded next to her pillow, sitting on top of her book. Once she’s grabbed her book and put her glasses on, she can actually identify that she’s laying on a pile of sheepskins, inside a tent. Memories of before come back, and she has to fight the lump in her throat that threatens to bring her tears back with them. Rather than sit in the dark and mope, she gets up, keeping one of the thick blankets from the bed, and shuffles to the tent opening to look outside.

There are a couple of fires currently going in the camp, one or two next to tents and a bigger one towards where the horses are paddocked. It seems most people, including the other refugees, are gathered around the bigger one, but Saria shies away from the prospect of interacting with people, especially when she’s feeling like this. One of the fires next to the big tent that Lor came out of earlier seems to be hosting a much more intimate and quiet gathering, featuring Lor himself, Keion, and Reis all speaking in low and serious tones. She considers leaving them alone as well, but Reis spots her and waves her over, leading the two men to also turn and beckon her closer. No escape, huh…

“Keion was just telling me that you spoke enough Hindshokhani to those soldiers to delay them until we got there,” says Lor as she gets within speaking distance. There’s a cooking pot over the fire, with the remains of stew in it. He dips a ladle in, and serves some into a wooden bowl. “That’s pretty impressive, keeping a cool head at a time like that. Come sit down and have something to eat, you look like you’ll fade away completely if you don’t.”

Since he’s already being generous enough to host them, she feels bad taking his food, but it would also be just as rude to refuse, so she sits and takes the bowl. “Whatever you were saying to that soldier kept him still enough that I got him right in the neck!” Reis grins, miming pulling back her bow and loosing an arrow. “From 500 yards off! Not bad, if I do say so myself!”

“And you do, often, say so,” Lor rolls his eyes. 

“One day, they’ll tell tales of that shot around campfires just like this, but _ with respect and awe _, as they should,” Reis huffs.

Keion chuckles at the playful bickering. “I’d be happy to pass on the tale, when we get to Albaines.”

This brings the tone of the conversation back to seriousness. Lor folds his arms. “If Hindshokhan has invaded Prash, that’s bad news for all of us. You may not know this, Saria, but we aren’t bandits. We are refugees, much like you. Prash has always been politically neutral territory in regards to Hindshokhan until now, but I doubt they’ll tolerate a bunch of Peteans hanging around in the countryside like King Obion did.”

“So what?” Reis grumbles, cracking her knuckles. “They can’t kick me out of _ two _ countries, I won’t let ‘em. I like it here, even if we have to travel around a lot! It’s rocky and hot, I guess, but I’ve lived in the borders of Prash for longer than I ever did in Petea!”

“But they don’t respect Prashian citizenship,” Keion points out. “Even for people who were born here. Our kingdom doesn’t have a Mohra, so to most of the world, we might as well be unoccupied territory up for grabs. We’re in the same boat as the Peteans.”

“Tch. Petea _ had _ a Mohra. And the Hindshokhanis killed her, and one day I’ll prove it.”

“Enough, Reis,” Lor sighs. His niece folds her arms and huffs. “In any case, we knew this day would come. Hindshokhan will stop at nothing to conquer the whole continent of Ea, perhaps beyond it if they can. We are not well armed enough to take on the largest military and economic power in the world, no matter how much hate you hold for them,” he directs this at Reis, who scowls into the fire and doesn’t say anything. “You are all heading for Albaines, and I think that is wise. They have great fortifications, as a kingdom largely comprised of islands, and Hindshokhan is no match in a naval battle for a truly seafaring nation. They would have to take a significant amount of time to build a force that could combat such a country. You should be safe there, for a time.”

“And what about us, Uncle,” Reis presses. “What about _ our _ people?”

“I think going to Albaines might be best for us as well.” 

“But I want to stay and--!”

“You will do _ no _ such thing,” Lor says sharply. “I have already lost so much to this cruel world, and I will not lose you too. Do not make me forbid it!”

Reis falls silent, poking at the embers of the fire with a stick. Lor’s harsh expression softens a little as he watches her.

“I know it feels like cowardice. But surviving is sometimes more important than justice, for there is no way to exact justice when you’re dead,” he reaches out and places a hand on Reis’ shoulder. “Do you understand, Reis?”

“... yes Uncle.”

“Good. Young Saria, you haven’t touched your food.”

Honestly, she’d been so absorbed in the conversation that she’d quite forgotten about it. Saria looks down at the bowl of mostly brown stuff, and picks up the wooden spoon that comes with it, raising it to her lips. The explosion of flavour in her mouth is so surprising after so long of nothing she nearly chokes on it, but before long she’s eaten every last chunk of meat and even drunk down the broth. 

“Now that’s more like it,” Lor grins at her with missing teeth, then ladles her another bowlful, which she quickly tucks into. “I was wondering if I could ask you something, now you’re feeling a little better.”

She looks up at him, mouth full of food, and swallows quickly. “... yes?’

“That book you have. Is it from the Royal Library of Alexra? It looks valuable.”

“You can’t have it,” she says quickly, and then realises that was pretty rude, and backtracks. “It was… entrusted to me. By someone important. I can’t give it to anyone… I’m sorry.”

Lor raises his hands. “I don’t want it, miss, I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I just wanted to know where it came from, and if you could read it.”

Saria shakes her head. “I don’t recognise the language in it at all. And I’ve read almost every text that came into the Library.”

“Saria used to live in the Library, you see,” Keion explains for her. “She was left there as a young child, orphaned unfortunately, and in the end the King decided that she could stay, since the Librarians had quickly grown fond of her.”

Lor nods, while still looking at Saria and her book. “I see. So you don’t know what it is, at all?”

Upon shaking her head, Saria sets her once again empty bowl aside and opens up the book. Still, all its letters and words are incomprehensible to her, but in the flickering light of the fire, they seem to dance and move as though alive. Reis is craning her neck to try and see. “Doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen either, Uncle.”

“Of course not, Reis, you’d be much too young to remember anything about it from Petea,” Lor replies, poking around in the fire. “Young Saria, I want you to be very careful with that book. That language, though I cannot read it, is the ancient script of the Mohra. Not only is it sacred, it is highly valuable and rare. I don’t know how such a thing wound up in the possession of humans, since those writings are intended for Mohra eyes only, but you must protect it.”

Saria feels a heavy weight settle on her. Of course. If this book was that important, of course it would be the one thing Milya prioritised saving from the Library. She holds it close and sets her jaw. “I won’t let anything happen to it.”

Lor nods. “I’m sure you won’t. The problem is, a book like that would be highly prized by Hindshokhanis, and since a portion of their soldiers has gone missing in this area, they’ll be out looking for the cause.”

Reis holds her hands up. “It was either that or let them probably get away with an important item! I bought us some time, you’re welcome!”

“That book needs to return to Mohra hands where it belongs,” Lor says, mostly ignoring Reis’ contribution. “... which is why I’d like to suggest that you travel ahead of the rest of us, at top speed, to Albaines.”

“What?! By herself?” Reis cries. “She can’t even ride a horse!”

“Of course not by herself. I’m sending you with her.”

“Oh well that makes-- WHAT!?” Reis shouts, and Saria winces. “Uncle, you’ll be defenceless without me!”

“Reis, we defended ourselves plenty well enough from trouble before you were able to shoot a bow or mount a steed,” Lor gives his niece a straight look. She scowls back.

“From bandits and nosy idiots, not Hindshokhani soldiers!”

“I’ve dealt with them plenty enough times to know how to handle myself with them again.”

“Yeah, 15 years ago maybe! When your eyes were sharp and your sword arm strong!” 

“Reis,” Lor says warningly, but it seems that Reis isn’t just laying down and taking this. She stands up and gestures around her.

“I’m not abandoning our people, who are in more danger than ever, for the sake of some book and a girl we literally picked up a few hours ago!”

“You’ll do as you’re told Reis, for the betterment of the world.”

“What are you even talking about?! It’s a book! How is it going to help anyone in this world’s problems? Unless it can literally obliterate Hindshokhan off the map, then it’s just another hunk of chewed up dead tree bound in animal skin!”

“What lies inside that book may _ indeed _ be the key to putting Hindshokhan back where they belong, Reis!” Lor stands up as well, shouting over Reis though not towering over her. Still, his presence and movement is enough for her to take a step back. “It could contain the kind of Old Magic that would help us turn the tide! If it means we can arm the kingdom of Albaines’ Mohra against Hindshokhan’s invading forces, then I say it’s worth putting ourselves on the line for.”

“Nngh!” Reis growls through her teeth, then turns sharply to Saria. “And you, what do you think of all this, huh?”

Put on the spot, Saria freezes up. What does she think of it? She’s never had any interest in war. She only knew of Mohra as an abstract concept of a largely ceremonial role that legitimises a king’s rule, before the other day. Suddenly being the carrier of the one object that could change the outcome of Hindshokhan’s unstoppable march across the continent is overwhelming. She can’t even fathom it.

“Saria,” Keion says gently. “If you don’t want to take it, I could do it for you--”

“No,” she says quickly, holding the book closer to her. “No, I… I can do it. I won’t let it leave my sight. I have to keep it safe. Like a Librarian would.”

Reis throws up her hands and walks away from the fire, muttering angrily under her breath. Lor looks heavenwards as though asking the distant gods for patience, but then gives Saria a smile. “You’re doing the world an enormous service, Saria. When you get to Albaines, if King Ulther is still on the throne, you can tell him Lor of Olbrecht sent you. I’m sure that’ll win you some points.”

“... can I ask, who are you, sir?” Saria says softly.

Lor shrugs. “Just an old soldier, still sworn to a king long dead,” he stretches out his back. “Don’t worry about Reis, she’ll sort herself out by morning. I’m heading to bed. You two make sure to rest up as well, alright?”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Lor,” Keion says with a respectful nod. “We won’t forget it.”

Lor simply gives a smile, and heads back into his tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started posting these, I have a bit of a backlog of chapters to upload and will be editing as I go. Please leave kudos/comment if you're enjoying it! I thrive on feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day dawns sunny and clear, with the temperatures rising back up to more what Saria was used to them being. Until recently, she hadn’t realised how much the Library kept her sheltered from the elements. Being out among the barren foothills and exposed mountains, compared to the humidity down by the sea, was a whole different climate despite not being all that far from each other. Plantlife grew wherever it could here, but there weren’t many options, the tough soil producing even tougher flora and fauna. Of course, that meant it toughened the people up too. 

While other members of the Alexra convoy began lending a helping hand around the camp, there isn’t much for Saria do to with her skillset. There are no books to copy and organise, nothing to dust, no candles or oil to change. She can’t even do much by way of cleaning up, since using a broom to sweep out a dirt-floor tent is an exercise in futility, and cooking and washing are bases that have been handily covered by the people already working. As such, for lack of any other ideas, she wanders towards the horses in the paddock, taking her book with her in a sling she’d fashioned for it out of a spare cloth. It sits on her back as a baby would sit on its mother’s.

Riding horses, as Saria realised yesterday, is not her forte. However, she _ had _ always enjoyed being around them before, on the off chance one turned up at the library, usually pulling a cart or carriage of some sort. Easily spooked and prone to being picky about who they like, she thinks she can probably relate to horses a lot better than she can to other people. 

There are at least two dozen horses in the paddock, which is segregated into two halves, one side for foals and mares, and the other for stallions. They all watch her with interest as she comes close to them, taking her time and making no sudden movements. One, which she eventually realises is Keion’s old stallion Kolls, sniffs at her hair before snorting, the air ticking her ears and startling a giggle out of her. She reaches her hand out and holds it in the air, and Kolls butts his nose into it, allowing her to pet him. He’s a soft, deep black horse, with a white nose and hoofs. He’s been with Keion for as long as she can remember, from back when he was just a young colt. He must be, she thinks, around the same age as her, which is funny, because 18 for a human is young, and for a horse it’s pushing retirement age. 

“You look happy,” says a voice from behind her, and she turns quickly enough that Kolls trots away from her. Reis is perched on a nearby rock, setting a stack of wooden sticks and two bags beside her. “The horses like you, which is good. Can always tell the character of a person from how fast a horse comes to like ‘em.”

“... is that so?” she mumbles, glancing back at the paddock. A couple of the horses are still hanging around, one of which is the grey mare that Saria remembers is called Nairos, Reis’ mount. “I didn’t think it was that simple.”

“Well, it’s not, but it’s a good start,” Reis shrugs a shoulder, and then picks up one of the sticks. She reaches into one of the bags next to her, and pulls out a number of feathers. Out of the other bag, she pulls out… string? It doesn’t look like cotton or wool yarn though. Taking a small hand-knife, she deftly splits the feathers in half, before tying them to the end of the stick. Saria watches her for a while before curiosity wins out over shyness.

“What are you doing?” 

“Fletching some arrows,” Reis says, holding the new arrow up to her eye to check the angle of the feathers. “I like to do ‘em myself. Helps me trust they’ll fly true.”

“Oh… what’s that you’re using?”

“This?” she holds up the string. “Sinew. Tendons, basically. I soaked ‘em in water for a while to soften them up, but once they’re dry they go taut and hold the fletching in place.”

Gross. But practical. “Where’s your bow?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions once you finally find your tongue,” Reis chuckles, and Saria feels her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Reis reaches further behind the rock and pulls out a plain looking staff, about five feet long, and bound in the middle with leather wrapping. “Here we go.”

Saria frowns at her. Is she supposed to laugh? “... that’s a stick.”

Reis grins. “Sure looks like it, huh?” 

“But you had a bow yesterday…”

“Yep, and this is it.”

“If you don’t want to show me, just say that,” Saria scowls, feeling like she’s being made fun of somehow. Sure, she might be from the city, but she can tell the difference between a bow and a staff.

Sensing she’s gone a little far, Reis raises her hand placatingly. “Alright, alright, don’t give me that look, I’m not trying to tease you really. This _ is _ my bow. Here, watch.”

Reis gets to her feet, standing on top of the rock. She holds the staff in the centre of its length where the leather wrap is, out in front of her like you would with a bow. Then, she takes an already fletched arrow, nocks it against her thumb, and pulls her arm back. When she does, Saria watches in awe as the entire staff bends into a perfect crescent, a gleaming string connecting each end of it, thin as a spider’s silk. Reis pulls back the arrow until the fletching rests against her cheek, squints one eye shut, and then looses it. It whizzes from the bow, into the air, and Saria hears a squawk, and then a thud. She turns, and sees an unfortunate duck has fallen victim to Reis’ deadly aim. When she looks back, the bow is a staff once again, and its owner is grinning.

“Whaddya think? I’m a good shot, huh?”

“A _ good shot _ ?!” Saria exclaims, looking back and forth between the duck and Reis. “What _ is _ that? How does it change shape? Where did you get it? Is the string always there or does it only appear when you draw it? Does--”

“Woah, woah, one at a time!” Reis laughs, twirling the staff between her fingers. “Man when you uncork that mouth it really does all come out, huh? It’s called the Bow of Frijya. You know, the goddess of the hunt? I guess you Prashians call her Diana.”

“I know her various names, yes,” Saria says, coming closer to inspect it. Reis holds it out obediently. “But that would make it some kind of holy artifact. How do you have it…?”

“It was a relic of Petea. It even used to show up on our flag and coat of arms,” Reis informs her. “When Petea was destroyed, Lor saved it and took it with him. But he lost his arm in the fight, so he can’t draw it. When I got old enough, he gave it to me, and now I’m a fantastic shot with it.”

“You keep saying that, but surely a holy weapon has some advantages to it.”

Reis raises an eyebrow. “You wanna try it?” 

Saria squints at her. “... is that a trick question?”

“You’re right that it has advantages. Do you wanna try it and see?”

Somehow, that tone of voice she uses makes Saria feel like doing something completely uncharacteristic of her. It stirs a flame of competition. Of pride. She takes the staff from Reis’ hand, surprised by the lightness of it. Reis smirks, and looks around the area, before pointing to an old, gnarled tree that’s probably been dead for years.

“That. You hit any part of that, first try, and I’ll call you a better shot than me.” 

Saria raises the staff in front of her like Reis did. Reis hands her an arrow, and she nocks it, just the same. She can see the faint string begin to form from tip to tip, threading perfectly through the notch at the end of the arrow shaft. Then, she pulls back.

She doesn’t even manage to pull it an inch before the arrow is suddenly propelled from her hand, and goes wildly off to the left by about a hundred feet, totally missing the tree and instead ending up sticking out of the nearby hillside. Reis smothers a laugh at her. Saria frowns harder and holds her hand out for another arrow. 

“Hold on, hold on, let me grab an actually finished arrow,” Reis laughs, digging around in a pile she’s made of ones she clearly fletched earlier. Eventually she hands one over.

Saria nocks the arrow, and pulls back.

Once again, she barely manages to pull it more than an inch before it flies out of her control, this time to the right, sticking in the ground. Reis is sniggering into her hand.

“Do you want a tip?”

Saria sighs, turning and giving Reis an irritable glare. “What.”

“Don’t focus on drawing back the string. Focus on your target. Don’t look at the end of your arrow, just at what you want to hit. The tree, and only the tree.”

That’s all well and good, but Saria barely knows how to draw a bow in the first place, just from watching other people. But Reis hands her another arrow, and she takes a deep breath anyway. She nocks it, feeling the smooth wood against her thumb and the perfect groove in the leather wrapping where it sits. She looks at the gnarled old tree, and pulls on the bow string she knows has formed. 

The muscles in her arms shriek with effort, but this time the staff bends into a bow, thrumming with energy like something alive under her hands. Her heart races with some unidentifiable feeling, and for a moment she loses her concentration on the tree, seeing the shadow of some bird pass over them--

She blinks, and the arrow is gone from her hand, instead having hit a rock to the left of it and promptly shattered into a hundred little wooden bits. Reis sucks in breath through her teeth. “Aww, you were really close! Did you look at that shadow?”

Saria turns and holds out the bow to Reis, who takes it. “Alright, what’s the secret.”

“Two things. First, like with any bow, you need upper body strength to control it properly. Your skinny arms have nothing on these,” she flexes, pulling up the edges of her poncho for emphasis on her biceps, which are indeed impressive, though Saria refuses to say so. “Second, any arrow fired from the Bow of Frijya will hit its mark, as long as you can keep your eye on the precise target you want, and keep it there. You need absolute focus, which I guess puts you at a disadvantage with your glasses too. Once you have that, you can adjust the power of your shot, which is another perk. Watch.”

Reis takes up her stance again with a new arrow, drawing it back with the bow gracefully bending to her will. She stares, unmoving, at the deadened tree. Saria hears her take in a deep, measured breath through her nose, and let it go slowly. Then, she fires.

The explosion startles all the horses into a frenzy, braying and running around the paddock as pieces of old tree go hurtling up into the air and land all around them. Saria ducks and covers her head as several chunks land not feet away from her and Reis, skittering along in the dirt. All that’s left of the tree is a stump sticking out of the ground, and a small crater in the mountainside behind it.

“If I’d tried, I could have taken that Hindshokhani soldier’s head clean off his shoulders. But I figured that’d be a bit gruesome for you guys to see,” Reis says nonchalantly, like she didn’t just totally obliterate a hefty chunk of the environment. Saria’s heart is pounding in her ears, and she stares up at Reis with mouth hanging open.

“REIS!”

“Whoops,” Reis grins, completely without regrets of any kind. 

“What have I told you about doing that!?” Lor is yelling at the top of his lungs, marching over to them with a face like thunder. “Look! You’ve spooked all the horses and there’s debris everywhere! All because you want to impress a girl!”

“Uncle!” the grin slips off Reis’ face and is replaced by a grimace. “That’s not- I wasn’t-”

“Sure you weren’t! I can’t turn my back for one second! I sent you over here to teach Saria to ride, now it’ll take hours before the horses are calm!” he reaches up with his real hand and grabs Reis by the ear, ignoring her immediate complaints as he marches back towards the camp with her in tow. “I’m putting you on potwash duty until this afternoon!”

“Uncle, nooooo!” Reis whines like a child, though she doesn’t fight her punishment, even if she could easily pull herself from Lor’s grip. Saria watches them go, bemused and still shellshocked from that display, and then resolves to go and calm the horses herself.

\----

In the end, night falls before Reis is freed from her punishment, so the horse riding lesson is put off until the following day. Saria sits around a small campfire, eating duck soup and trying to settle her still racing thoughts. They refused, it seemed, to sit on any one subject, jumping from the Bow of Frijya (or Diana, she supposes, the gods have many names in many places), to Reis’ victorious grin as pieces of dead wood rained from the sky (if that had been a person, would she still grin? Would, or _ could _ Saria be okay with being around such destructive power?). She ends up staring into the bonfire and counting herself lucky that she’d made an ally of Reis, not an enemy.

What did Lor mean when he said Reis was trying to impress her?

“Mind if I join you?” comes Keion’s voice, standing a little way away from her and surprising her out of her thoughts. She nods and shuffles up, allowing him to take a seat close to her, but not too close. “Saw you were getting along with Reis today. That’s good, to make a friend, especially one your age.”

“I guess…” she’s not sure if she would call Reis a friend. They didn’t really know each other that well yet. That, and she hadn’t really had much by way of friends her age before, unless you could count Midias, which he did and she certainly didn’t. 

“And you stuck around to calm down the horses, which was good of you. You’ve always been good with animals, I remember the cats in the library would sleep in piles all over you when you were little,” he grins at her. “You were a funny little thing. Blunt, brutally so. You told the king he smelled funny, right to his face.”

Saria buries her face in her hands. “I remember that one. He was wearing a musky perfume.”

Keion chuckles. “He took it in good form, though. Goes to show what kind of man he was.”

A silence settles for a moment. The fire cracks and pops. “... he’s dead, isn’t he.”

Keion sighs. “... Yes. Most likely. I doubt Hindshokhan would go and do that to Alexra without ensuring the king died in the process. Now, Prince Midias, I have no idea. He may have been able to flee, in which case there is hope for Prash yet.”

Saria makes a face. She’s not so sure about that. Prash ruled by Midias… she can’t even fathom it. The place is in shambles as it is, having Midias in charge would surely drive it further into the ground. 

“Oh don’t look like that, he’s not that bad,” Keion shakes his head. “Young, inexperienced, and headstrong, yes, but so was King Obion, once upon a time. He, too, was forced into power at a young age since his mother Queen Palia, gods rest her soul, passed when he was barely 20 summers old. And the first few years were a little rocky, but he really hit his stride eventually. I think Prince Midias could very well do the same.”

“I don’t think you know Midias like I do…” she mumbles into her soup bowl. 

The silence returns again, but only between her and Keion. The rest of the camp, despite the late hour, is alive with talking and movement. A few things are being packed into caravans and carts by people, though all the tents stay standing. Other folks sit around the fire, talking in low voices about the situation, but also about the food, about mere gossip, about normal things when nothing else feels normal at all. A part of her still can’t shake the feeling that she’ll wake up, at home in the unburnt Library, and all of this will be a dream, and she’ll tell Milya and the others about it, and they’ll laugh. 

“Saria,” Keion says, once again bringing her back to reality. “How do you like Kolls? He clearly seemed pleased to cuddle up to you earlier, and you calmed him down much quicker than the others.”

“Huh? Um… I guess for a horse, he is pretty tactile,” even as she’d been calming him, he’d been leaning up against her as though he’d forgotten that he weighed six times as much as her, nearly pushing her over. “Why?”

“Why don’t you try learning to ride on him tomorrow? He’s getting on a bit in years and is used to an awful lot of people being around him all the time, so he’s very calm. I think he’d be a good candidate, and help you be less frightened.”

“I’m not frightened of horses…”

“Maybe not when your feet are on the ground, but nobody wants to fall from horseback. People have died in such ways before. But you already have a bond of trust with Kolls, and that’s half the fight when it comes to riding. What do you say?”

“... alright. Tomorrow, I’ll ride on Kolls.”

Keion smiles, but there’s something sad about it and she can’t figure out why. He pats her knee lightly, and gets to his feet with a grunt of effort. “Oogh. My back won’t let me sit on the ground as much these days. I’m hittin’ the hay. Sleep well, Saria.”

“Sleep well…” she returns, as he leaves her with the fire and the remains of her soup in her wooden bowl. She absently swirls the contents around, watching little oily globs sit on the surface of the watery base soup. One way or another, she was going to have to get on and stay on a horse, no matter how tall they were or how nervous she was. At least there were unlikely to be any explosions involved this time…

\----

“And then you just use your heels to squeeze gently one side or another,” Reis instructs, walking backwards while talking to Saria in the saddle. Since Reis is usually about a head taller than Saria, seeing her from above is novel, and probably the only thing currently distracting Saria from how damn tall horses are. 

“It doesn’t hurt him?” Saria frets, because Kolls has put up with a lot of this all morning now, from her hesitating to even start, to her just trying to sit properly on him, to practicing commands until her voice got tired. Surely eventually he’ll get too annoyed and buck her off, but currently he’s putting up with it with incredible patience. 

“Nah, he pulls carts all the time, compared to a big wooden yoke, you’re light as a feather!” Reis grins up at her while patting Kolls’ neck. “You’re a tough old boy, aincha?” 

Kolls, in response, snorts quietly and tries to nibble Reis’ short hair. She laughs and gently pushes his snout away from her, but leaves her with an odd spike of horse-spit hair anyway. Normally, Saria would be repulsed, but somehow it’s just funny instead, so she giggles behind her hand.

“Hey, you laughed! That means you’re getting comfortable in the saddle. Okay, let’s try a canter again, but this time you gotta turn him on your own, I won’t lead him. Remember, gentle press of your heel!” 

“Reis!” Lor calls from the edge of the paddock. “Come here, I need to speak to you for a moment!”

“Coming!” Reis calls back, then looks up at Saria. “Think you can handle doing this by yourself?”

“You don’t have to babysit me…” Saria says, even though anxiety starts to claw at her at the thought of being left on top of the horse alone. “I’ll just… do laps.”

“Great, I’ll be right over here!” Reis gives her two thumbs up, and jogs over to her uncle, leaning on the paddock fence to talk to him. Saria watches her for a little while, not particularly thinking anything, which is a rarity for her. Her head is always so full of rushing thoughts and unsettled feelings normally, but somehow around Reis it all seems to settle. And she doesn’t really get why. Reis is loud, and cocky, and forward with her thoughts, and gets dirty and dusty without a care - all qualities that would repulse her in people like Midias. She doesn’t mind being close to Reis, or Reis touching her. It never makes her skin crawl, or leaves her uneasy and feeling gross. 

It’s a mystery, really. She can’t figure out what makes Reis different from other people. She supposes she’s the first Petean that she’s ever met, but why would that be a factor?

While lost in her thoughts, Kolls comes to an abrupt stop, nearly causing her to fall off him. His ears are flat against his skull, and his eyes are towards the horizon, at the end of the valley where the camp is set up. Saria also looks that way, squinting into the distance.

A large, imposingly dark cloud is heading their way from the south. A few seconds after she looks, she hears a loud rumble of thunder echo off the sides of the mountains. So it’s a storm…

Maybe the sudden drop in pressure and temperature is what causes her to shiver, but somehow looking at the approaching weather front makes her anxious. Kolls seems to be picking up on it too, as he shifts back and forth uneasily. The other horses in the paddock next door are all gathering in the corner farthest from the storm. 

“Reis…?” she calls over her shoulder, somewhat reluctant to look away from the cloud, under the weird feeling that if she does it will suddenly be closer. “I think we should go inside…”

“... Mother of Gaia…” she hears Lor mutter, and then risks a look at him. He’s staring at the stormfront too, with a perturbed expression. “That’s not good. Reis, saddle Nairos, now.”

Reis gives him an odd look. “What? Uncle, it’s a little rain--”

Lor is already walking back to camp, yelling over his shoulder. “I’ve seen a stormfront like that once before! Something very dangerous is coming. You need to take Saria and leave!”

“What!? But we were going tomorrow!” 

“We won’t _ see _ tomorrow if that book is still here when the storm is upon us!” Lor ducks inside one of the tents, leaving Reis to stand here confused, rubbing the back of her neck.

“What the hell, old man… ugh, fine. Nairos! Come on girl!” 

The horse comes when called, though looks highly agitated. It seems that seeing even her horse unsettled gets Reis to take things seriously, and she saddles her with her blanket, and picks up her bow-staff from where it leans against the paddock fence. With a well practiced heft, she gets up onto Nairos’ back, taking the reins and turning to look at Saria. “Got your book with you?”

Saria shifts the weight of the sling she carries the book in on her back, and nods. At that moment, Lor returns from the tent to the paddock, along with Keion, who looks worried and is carrying two sacks. Saria urges Kolls closer to the fence so she can talk to him. 

“Here, Saria, I thought there might be trouble sooner than we thought,” he passes one sack up to her, which has a strap she can sling over her back to sit on top of the book. It helpfully obscures the odd rectangular shape. “They’re meagre supplies, but they’ll have to do.”

“Thank you, Keion. I’ll get off Kolls and--”

“No, no. You keep him.”

She leans back in shock. “What? But he’s- you’ve had him for years!”

“And I trust him to keep you safe on your journey. Do you like him?”

“I- well, I- yes-”

“Then that’s good enough,” he smiles up at her. Saria is suddenly seized with a foreboding feeling at the look of him. Milya flashes in her mind.

“I’ll- I’ll return him to you! Once you get to Albaines!” she blurts out. “I’ll take really good care of him, so you have to take care of yourself too! You have to cross the mountains, and go through the forests, and across the channel safely so I can give him back to you! Promis--”

A rumble of thunder so loud it makes Kolls jump cuts her off. She looks behind her, and as she somehow knew it would be, the cloud is almost upon them. Her heart hammers against her ribcage. It’s purple-dark and churning like an angry ocean but above them, enormously tall and flashing with lightning every couple of seconds. 

“Saria!” Lor calls to her from where he stands by Reis. “You both need to go, now!”

“You’ll be alright,” Keion reassures her, then looks at Kolls. “You keep her safe, my boy, you hear me? You keep her safe.”

Reis trots up next to her on Nairos. “Let’s go.”

Swallowing her fear, she nods, and as Lor opens the paddock gate, both horses set off at a gallop. Saria hasn’t tried this speed yet, and the sudden rush of air through her hair causes her to squeeze her eyes shut and hope to the gods that Kolls will just follow Nairos and Reis. 

By the time the horses tire and have to slow down, Saria’s legs are chapped and sore, her spine is jostled, and her hair is sticking up everywhere. Her feet in the stirrups have blistered where the leather rubbed against them too hard, and she can barely catch her breath. Reis stops to look behind her at where they came from - they must have traveled miles, even over hilly terrain and winding old mountain roads - and Saria hears her make a soft gasp, which makes her turn to look herself.

The cloud has stopped, hanging ominous and dark over the valley where the camp lies. From their current position on a mountainside, they can look down and see that in its shadow, the entire camp is almost too dark to see in, only occasionally lit by flashes of lightning. The rumbles of thunder seem to shake something inside Saria more than it affects her ears. She thinks she can see faint pinpricks of light, people moving under the cloud’s shadow while holding torches to see. There are too many of them to just be the camp’s inhabitants.

“What kind of cloud,” Reis says slowly. “Stops and goes like that?”

“Not a normal one…” Saria mutters in response. 

The cloud seems to boil and shift like a living creature, and for a moment, the flash of lightning illuminates what could almost be a face, one with electric-bright eyes that look right at her. Kolls spooks and whinnys, and Nairos does too. “Woah, woah, easy girl,” Reis tries to calm her horse, but Saira can’t calm herself. 

_ Ilra Ka. _

Somehow the name pops back into her head as she stares at the horrible dark cloud. Is this some sort of magic? Is that what makes Ilra Ka so dangerous, access to the kind of magic that is so rare these days? Is that cloud like Reis’ bow, some artefact from a bygone era, or something much worse, the work of a magician? The only magicians Saria has ever seen are court entertainers from the palace, capable of producing wisps of flame and flashes of light for amusement, not enormous weather phenomena. Very, very few people can harness that kind of magic…

“We need to go,” Saria says with a sudden feeling of urgency. 

Reis nods, agreeing and urging Nairos on, muttering to herself. “Uncle Lor… you better make it out of there.”

\----

Saria is grateful that Reis is with her, because she would have absolutely no idea how to set up a camp on her own. She watches her pitch a tent, light a fire, and tie up the horses with the kind of precision she’d expect from a military guard. She supposes that Lor did call himself a soldier, and he probably taught Reis how to do these things. But in the end, Saria is left feeling pretty useless when it comes to her skills. 

Not that she could get up and move around, with her legs so saddle-sore that she feels like they might just fall off her if she tries to shift away from the fire. So instead she plucks a pheasant that Reis shot an hour previously, leaving the feathers in a pile that maybe can be used as fletching some other time. It’s such a monotonous exercise that she doesn’t notice that Reis has come to sit by her until Reis clears her throat.

“So. I guess it’s just you and me now, huh?”

  
  
“... yeah, I suppose it is.”

“I mean, I’ve been out hunting by myself before. Gone solo for a week and all that. But I’ve never gone, like, deliberately away from everyone. And never traveled with just one other person either. Not that you’re bad company! I just, uh…” she trails off. “... well, anyway, I thought maybe we could get to know each other?”

“... how?” Saria asks.

“Well, like, you ask me a question, I ask you a question, we have a conversation. That sorta thing!” Reis smiles at her. It’s an infectious smile, despite Saria’s poor mood. 

“... okay. Um… you come from Petea, right?”

“Sure do! Land of grassy hills and giant clouds. Thunder and wind! The peak and the fjord!”

“Fjord?”

“Uhhh, I don’t have a Prashian word for it…” Reis picks up a twig, and draws in the dirt. “Like… where the earth splits open into these deep gorges, and there’s water at the bottom. You can stand at the top near the edge and it feels like you’re flying, you’re so high up. It’s not a canyon, because canyons have rivers in them, and the water at the bottom of a fjord is salty from the sea… but I guess at some point further up there must be a river that joins it? I dunno. I haven’t actually seen them in so long, I barely remember.”

It sounds… beautiful, if she’s honest. A place she’d like to see, if only she could. She’s seen the outline of Petea before on maps, all the jagged edges and inlets, but hadn’t really thought of how it would look in reality. “I see… how old were you when you left Petea?”

“About six years old,” she frowns. “Before we left… Uncle Lor says he saw a cloud like that one we saw today. It moved so suddenly over the capital - Vindhelt - that it blotted out the sun, and suddenly everything went to hell. He won’t tell me what exactly, maybe he doesn’t want to remember, but apparently he just picked me up and ran. Lost his arm on the way out…” a sneer moves her lip. “It was those Hindshokhani bastards somehow, I’m sure. They were here today, too, I bet, looking for those missing soldiers.”

Saria frowns at the burning wood. That cloud… the destruction of Petea… it couldn’t _ also _ be something to do with Ilra Ka, could it? 

Reis seems to notice the awkward silence that has fallen, and quickly continues, apparently uncomfortable in it. “Anyway, I’ve only been to Alexra a few times. So I don’t really know much about it at all, like the atmosphere of the city, where the good food places are, and stuff like that. I’d love to trade recommendations, but I can’t really tell you much more about Petea, it was such a long time ago…”

Ah… there’s a problem there. “I don’t know how much I can tell you about Alexra either…”

“Huh? But you were there until the other day, right?”

“I lived in the Library. The Royal Library of Alexra.”

“People _ live _ in there?”

“The Librarians do. There’s a whole annex with a courtyard and kitchen and sleeping quarters. Usually about 5 or 6 librarians live there, with scribes coming in to work part-time to copy texts, but recently it was just 3 Librarians and me.”

Reis raises an eyebrow. “You’re not a librarian? But you look like one, those round specs and holding that book like it’s your newborn child.”

Saria knows that Reis probably means that teasingly, but she feels genuinely complimented when she says she looks like a Librarian. “I wanted to be, but you can’t unless you have citizenship in Prash. A birth certificate and such. I don’t have one of those, I’m probably not even Prashian.”

“Oh…” a pause. “You don’t know where you’re from?”

Saria shakes her head. “I was abandoned at the Library when I was about… three? Maybe younger, it was hard for anyone to tell and it’s not like I could really tell them for sure, since I didn’t speak Prashian at the time. So, operating on the assumption that I was around three years old, I’m around eighteen now. I celebrate my birthday on the day when King Obion kindly said I could officially stay there.”

Reis is giving her an odd look, like she’s mulling over a lot of things in her head. “That’s weird,” is apparently what she eventually settles on. Saria frowns back at her.

“It’s… a little weird, I guess, not everyone grows up inside a library, but--”

“He’s the King, he could give you citizenship whenever he wanted. I don’t get why he wouldn’t do that. He could probably find you a better place to live than some library too. Dunno how you can call a guy who half-asses taking care of a vulnerable little kid ‘kind’ or anything.”

Saria frowns even harder. “The King was incredibly generous to some random orphan he had no obligations towards. And I _ loved _ living in the Library, thank you very much.”

Reis isn’t paying attention to Saria’s face, instead rummaging around in their wood pile for a chunky log to throw on the fire. “Really? Did you? Or did you only love it because you had no other choice? I can’t imagine being cooped up in some dusty old place with nowhere else to go. Sounds like prison to me.”

Anger suddenly rises inside Saria with the intensity of an erupting volcano. “Well _ I _can’t imagine being so pleased with being ignorant and dirty and-- and probably never reading a book in your whole life!”

“What?! I can read!” Reis exclaims, insulted and whipping around to look at her. “_ You _ could cut back on the judgy attitude ya know! Ya might not have noticed, there’s not a whole lot of books out here in the middle of nowhere! Where I’ve lived, for years, because my country got destroyed!”

“Mine’s gone too! Don’t act like you’re better or know more than me, or pass judgement on my home! The Library was the best thing I’ll ever have, and-” her eyes are stinging, and her breath catches. “And I’ll never get to see it again, because it all burned down, and all the Librarians died, Orpa and Nimia and Milya, a-and--!”

The wind has gone out of Reis’ sails entirely. She reaches out to Saria. “Hey, I’m--”

“Don’t!” Saria smacks her hand away, and stands up. “Just-- just don’t, I-- I need to…” and she doesn’t finish the sentence before stalking off into the dark, ignoring Reis calling after her. She thought she was done crying over this. She can’t keep breaking down over and over, not when she has to keep the book safe all the way to Albaines. And if Reis is going to say stuff like _ that _ then…

Saria sits down by the river they elected to make camp nearby, dipping her hands in the cold waters. The feeling of it running over her skin always managed to make her feel less agitated one way or another, but right now the hurt inside her doesn’t seem to wash away so easily. A sting of… betrayal, she supposes. She’s had plenty of comments like that before - that her living in the library was strange, that _ she _ was strange, and it had never particularly mattered to her. It hadn’t _ stung _ in such a way before. She just didn’t think that Reis would be like that too.

She swings the sling holding the book off her back, holding it to her chest instead. In the end she always seemed to mess things up, or set her expectations too high for people. She always got disappointed by almost everyone… except her books. Books can’t surprise you, not really, because they’re already written. The contents won’t change, the intent and message is always well thought out and clear, and they rarely contradict themselves. Maybe she had been too quick to trust a person who is essentially a stranger, just based on her gut feeling. 

“Saria?” comes a voice, hesitant. Reis is standing a little way away from her. “... hey, come on, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t think before I spoke.”

Saria doesn’t say anything back. She just needs to deliver the book to the Mohra in Albaines, and then… something. Something else. She doesn’t know what, specifically, but surely there will be _ something _ else. She’ll just have to figure it out when she gets to it. Reis is just along for the ride.

“Come back to the fire? Please? It’s dangerous out here in the dark and if I can’t see something, I can’t shoot it with the bow…” Reis steps a little closer. “I’m supposed to be protecting you…”

Saria stands up, but doesn’t face Reis. “Yes. You are. And that’s the extent of our relationship, from here on out. I keep out of trouble, you keep trouble away from us. That’s it.”

The darkness hides Reis’ expression but not the hurt in her voice. “... okay…”

Biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying anything more, Saria nods, and turns to walk back to their little camp, right past Reis, without looking at her. They head to bed without further exchange of words, and awake and pack in silence the next morning.


	4. Chapter 4

All-in-all, it takes about two and a half days of riding, of making camp, traversing up and down mountainsides of every possible degree of steepness, and of every question and conversation starter being met with silence and one-word answers, before Reis finally snaps.

“Alright, can you cut the cold shoulder treatment already? I didn’t mean to say anything bad about your library, okay? I’m sorry! I'm really, really sorry! Even if you just want to keep this a protector-protectee, uh, thing, we still need to be able to exchange more than two words an hour! You gotta say  _ something _ to me!”

Saria raises her head but does not reply to Reis. She must remain resolute, staring straight in front of her at the road they are currently taking down the side of a mountain, towards much greener and flatter pastures beyond. This isn't the first time she's attempted to make peace, but it _is_ the first time she's included an apology.

“I’m a dumbass with chronic foot-in-mouth disease,” Reis is still talking, voice echoing off the rocky wall beside them. “I don’t think badly of you or your home, living in a library sounds super cool! I’ve never met anyone else who gets to say that for real. You get to read all day and... and all sortsa other stuff I bet! You could tell me all about it and I’d listen all day long!”

Must. Remain. Resolute.

“Saria, come on! Please? I’m going crazy over here! I’m bad at talking to pretty girls, cut me some slack!”

There's a long pause, before Saria glances over at her out of the corner of her eye. “… pretty girls?”

“Yeah! You think there are many of those out here in the sticks? Because, trust me there ain’t—“

“You think I’m a pretty girl?”

Reis pauses, and looks at her strangely. “… yeah? Unless you’re about to tell me you ain’t a girl, but you sure are pretty, regardless.” 

Saria swallows and stares at her hands gripping Kolls’ reins. “… I’m… just plain looking, really.”

“What?! No way, how come you think that? Do they not have mirrors in your library?”

This earns her a withering look from Saria, and Reis grimaces. 

“No, no, I’m not trying to— listen, it’s amazing that you don’t know that you’re pretty, because, I mean, look at you! You’ve got those beautiful eyes like the sun, and hair like thick, dark ocean waves at night! Your skin’s all smooth and warm coloured and not all roughened by sand and wind like mine - you’ve been inside most of your life so I bet you never even had a sunburn! And when you actually get your confidence behind you, when you get to talk about the things you know about, you burn with this amazing… I dunno! Like something electric! You’re brains and beauty, how can nobody have ever told you this before?”

By the end of this speech, Saria is pretty sure that steam must be erupting from her ears because of how hot her face feels. How does she even respond to such a thing as this?! Quick, rebuff her, before it’s too late!

“Y… you’re very unusually poetic today.”

“Well my plain old usual words ain’t gonna cover the topic properly, are they?”

Oh, no, every single thing Reis says is making it even worse. She’s going to explode. Or at the very least her heart is going to break one of her ribs from pounding against them too hard. 

“... really, though, Saria, I’m sorry. I know this journey isn’t where either of us wanted to be in our lives right now. I’m away from the last of my family and I don’t know if he’ll be okay without me, you’ve been freshly turned out of your home for the first time… It’s not ideal. But it would make it a whole lot easier if we could at least  _ talk _ to each other. Is…” she hesitates for a moment. “Is there a reason you don’t wanna talk to me other than me saying a lot of dumb stuff?”

A reason? Sure, there’s a reason. There’s lots of reasons. Like how Reis tears through her walls like they’re nothing but paper, with a few compliments and endearing self depreciation. Or how she can’t quite block out everything she says, even when she’s doing her best to remain distant and aloof. It always worked so well before. She could always manage to tune out the world into a background hum - unpleasant, but easily ignorable. That Reis is somehow different is…

“... scary…”

Reis, who had used Saria’s period of silence to catch up with her on the steadily widening mountain road, leans back in the saddle, looking hurt. “... I’m scary? I guess… mmn. I’m pretty rough and tumble, and I know the thing with the bow was super reckless and dumb…”

“It’s not… that…” Saria mumbles, causing Reis to lean closer to hear her talk. “I m-mean, I was mad about the library comment too, but, that’s not the only thing. I just… what if I…” she takes a deep breath. Come on. Words. “One day, you’re going to leave, and go back to Lor and your people, and I have no right to stop you, but…” the pain in her chest swells again. “I don’t know if I can do that again.”

“Do… what?” Reis asks, and then as she speaks, seems to realise. “... lose a person?”

Saria nods quietly. 

“So it’s not that you hate me so much you don’t want me near you, but more like, you like me too much and that’s scary…?” 

Again, Saria can only nod. Reis looks at the road ahead, and rubs the back of her neck, falling silent in thought, which allows Saria to do the same. And as usual, her thoughts betray her by running wild with frightening ideas - that she’s said too much and now Reis will  _ definitely _ be creeped out and leave her anyway. 

“It hurts a lot more to be disappointed by someone you like, doesn’t it?” Reis observes quietly.

“... yeah. It does…”

“I’m sorry I disappointed you, and said something mean about a thing you clearly care a lot about. I’m gonna try really, really hard not to do that again.” 

“... you said foot-in-mouth disease is chronic, though…”

“Eheh… I mean, yeah, but, I’m still gonna try. Is that…” Reis is looking at her again with those earnest and beautiful green eyes. “... okay with you?”

How could she ever say no? It’s clear this is a battle not worth fighting. Reis gets through her defenses like they’re barely there and Saria can’t even find it within her to be mad about it any more. She takes a deep breath. “... okay.”

“Awesome!” Reis crows, so excited she jumps up to stand on top of her saddle. Nairos, to her credit, keeps plodding on with only a mildly irritated twitch of her ear. Seems like she’s used to this. “Yes! I thought for sure you hated my guts, which sucks because I really like you! And also because I need you to help me read this map.”

Saria looks up at her quizzically. “We have a map? I thought you knew the route.”

“We have… an  _ Albainese _ map,” Reis says, reaching into her supply bag and pulling out a very worn and tattered piece of parchment. “My Albainese speaking is pretty standard, but I  _ can’t _ get a hang of their stupid writing system. It doesn’t even make sense! The vowel sounds are all inconsistent and the spelling, ugh, it’s so complicated!”

Saria  _ could _ launch into a lecture on the phonological and orthographic development of the Albainese language, but she gets the feeling that the majority of it would fly right over Reis’ head. So she gives the short version. “They got invaded a lot as a young kingdom, so a lot of ancient languages mixed over there, resulting in… um…”

“A stitched-together  _ monster _ ,” Reis declares, before finally sitting back down on Nairos’ saddle and passing Saria the map. “So, before we get to the bottom of this mountain and reach that there fork in the road ahead of us, where the heck are we going.”

“Do you at least know what mountain this is?” Saria says, trying to orient the map based on where the sun currently hangs. It’s mid afternoon, the sun is heading towards the west, so Alexra should be down on the edge of the southern peninsula, Hindshokhan’s borders to the east, the great sea to the west… Oh, this map is so old, Petea is still shown. A keepsake, perhaps, from the old kingdom.

“Yea, this is Mount Ori, I know that much. I know all the ranges around here. But that,” she points out across at the sea of trees, stretching for miles ahead. “I’m not so sure about.”

“Hmm,” Saria locates Mount Ori pretty easily, and from there the large forest. “This is Galis Forest. Before Prash conquered it a long time ago, these mountains behind us were the border of the old kingdom of Galia.”

“Huh… cool!” Reis says, genuinely seeming to mean it. 

“It’s very thick woodlands, but it looks like there’s a route through it. Or at least there was one about 15 or more years ago when this map was probably made. The other option is going all the way around, but the trees stretch from here to the western coast and to the Centria Range that marks the border between Prash and Hindshokhan. Or… marked, anyway.”

“Well we ain’t going near Hindshokhan in a hurry, and heading to the sea would take too long, so… through the forest we go!” Reis declares. “Onwards, Nairos!” 

Nairos makes no attempt to speed up her pace. One of her ears twitches irritably again. Saria feels sorry for her. “I don’t think charging ahead is a good idea when the horses are so tired…”

“Oh, right, right, let’s take a break at the nearest river.”

\----

Saria really has to commend Kolls for putting up with everything so far. For a horse he is getting on a bit, after all, but he’s not so much as grunted in complaint despite the difficult mountain trails and harsh rocks under his hooves. As he drinks from the stream where they’ve stopped for a break, Saria gives his neck an appreciative pat. He’ll get to retire on the green pastures of Albaines that she’s always read about. 

Not that the forest isn’t plenty green as it is. After the constant beige and brown and grey of the mountains and brushland, seeing this much foliage is a bit of a shock to the system. In a good way, mind you. She breathes in the fresh forest air, feeling the grass and fallen leaves under her bare feet. It’s a good feeling. She’s stood on grass before - on those rare times she left the Library to go somewhere like the royal gardens nearby, late at night when the crowds were gone - but never so wild and in so much abundance. Nairos is having a feast of it, chewing it up with reckless abandon. Reis is stretching her legs out and washing the dirt off with water from the stream. 

“Now we’re heading north, we’re gonna have to find you some actual shoes to wear, huh?” 

“What?”

“For your feet,” Reis points towards Saria’s bare toes. “Any further north than this and it’s gonna get real uncomfortable for you to leave your feet and legs all exposed like that. You probably need a cloak or something as well. Any sign of a town on the map there?

“Um… let me look…” Saria says before looking at the old map. “... there’s a town about 30 miles along the road from here.”

“Sweet! We’ll get you some clothes there, and hopefully they’ll have an inn or a barn we can sleep in or something, I’m  _ so _ up for an actual bed, aren’t you?”

Saria can’t deny that she is, so when they get back in the saddle, they push forward with intent to reach the village by nightfall. 

Of course, by late afternoon, the shadows of the trees make it much harder to tell when the sun is about to set, and the darkness becomes much deeper around them. Less than an hour of riding goes by, when suddenly Saria feels a strange shuddering feeling come over her, not unlike hitting your elbow on the corner of a table, and having the vibration go through your whole body. It’s highly unpleasant, and makes her grimace. 

“Reis--”

“Oh! Oh! I see lights!” Reis points ahead of them, and sure enough, through the trees they can see lights, torches, signs of life. A settlement.

“Wait, there’s no way we could have traveled 30 miles in this short of a time period,” Saria realises, frowning as buildings come into view. “This village shouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe the map’s wrong? Or it was built recently!” Reis offers, clearly excited. “Come on, come on, let’s go!” And she urges Nairos forward, who seems a bit reluctant, but goes anyway. Saria, resigned, follows. 

They arrive at the open gates of a lively village, nestled in amongst the trees of the forest. Each building barely reaches over two storeys tall, and there’s a large town square in the centre of it all with a statue depicting a woman riding a unicorn. Judging by the wooden signs hanging in front of most of the doors of the houses surrounding the square, there’s a carpenter, blacksmith, grocer’s, inn, and a tailor-cobbler combo store. Convenient. A few of the people milling around come to a sudden halt upon seeing the intruders to their little village. 

“Reis, I don’t know about this…” Saria says quietly as Reis confidently dismounts.

“Relax, Saria, it’ll be okay. I’ve negotiated rooms without cash before.”

“That’s really not the problem here…”

“Welcome, travellers!” comes a voice that grabs their attention. A middle aged woman is walking towards them, her dark hair streaked with white, pulled up into a neat bun on the top of her head. She’s fairly rotund and soft looking, wearing a long red dress that just barely misses dragging on the floor. When she comes up to stand near Reis, she’s nearly two heads shorter. “Not often we get guests in these parts. What brings you this way?”

Reis, surprisingly, sweeps into an elegant bow. “Ma’am, we’re merely on our way north to Albaines, looking for a place to stop for the night. If we might, do you know if there are rooms in your Inn available?”

“Rooms? Hm… RONNIE! ARE THERE ROOMS?” she yells, so loud that Saria nearly falls off Kolls with surprise. Such a strong voice out of such a small woman! 

“Aye, Lydia, as always!” comes a call from the door of the tavern, called ‘The Blessed Horn’ if the sign at the front is to be believed.

“Well then, there’s your answer!” The woman, Lydia apparently, turns back to them with a smile. 

Reis smiles back. “That’s a relief, but begging your pardon ma’am, we’ve no coin. But! I am an excellent hunter, so if I were to catch you some game, would I be able to trade it?”

“A hunter, are you?” Lydia raises her eyebrows, taking a long pause to consider Reis. “Well… we may have use for that, but not right now when the hour is so late. It’s so unlikely to have anyone new here, the novelty alone is pay enough for now! I’m sure Ronnie will be happy to house you for tonight, and have you pay tomorrow.”

Reis’ eyebrows climb high. “Really? Without even a deposit?” 

“Oh, you don’t seem like the dishonest type, dear!” Lydia chuckles, flapping a hand at her. “All your emotions are written right on your face!”

“Heheh, yeah, I get told that a lot,” Reis chuckles sheepishly, and then beams up at Saria. “You hear that, Saria, we get beds tonight!”

Saria finds herself tongue-tied as usual around these unfamiliar people, all looking at her while she’s sat up on Kolls’ back, but manages a nod regardless, not wanting to seem rude. Even if these people staring at her made her uncomfortable, it would be unwise to refuse their kindness… right? But in that case, why did she want to run so badly…

“Aw, your lovely girl there is very sweet,” Lydia chuckles. “How long have you been together?”

“Wha- oh, no, we’re not, uh,  _ together _ together,” Reis says, laughing and embarrassed. Saria feels her face heat up too. “We’re just, um, friends. Travelling companions. You know.”

“Ohhh… I see,” Lydia nods in a way that seems knowing. “Well, I’ll go talk to Ronnie and get your room sorted. Why don’t you take a look around before everyone closes up shop and goes to bed for the night?”

“Great, you’re really too kind, Ms…?” 

“Oh, you can just call me Lydia, everyone does,” Lydia laughs over her shoulder as she walks towards the inn. Reis walks over to Kolls’ side and holds her arms up towards Saria, helping her down from Kolls’ back. When Saria’s feet touch the cold cobblestones of the square, she’s reminded of the shoe problem. 

“Do you think we could go ask the cobbler…?” she asks Reis, who nods.

“Gotcha. First stop, shopping!”

\----

The shopping trip goes surprisingly smoothly. Even without money, the cobbler and the tailor (a married pair, it turns out), are very happy to serve them, taking measurements of Saria’s entire body, and even Reis’ too, declaring that they’d have some shoes at the very least for Saria the following day, and some clothes soon after. After that, Saria and Reis head back to the inn, where they’re met by the very enthusiastic and cheerful Ronnie, a bearded man who seems to be mostly composed of a beer belly with limbs sticking out. He feeds them a hearty meal of rabbit stew and some odd little green vegetables that Saria didn’t know what to name, but are crunchy and slightly bitter. 

Then, with the horses appropriately stabled, Saria and Reis are shown to the baths, which were apparently warmed up for their arrival. They’re a total novelty to Saria, as she’s never had a warm bath before, only cold ones. The steam fogs up her glasses, and she has to take them off. Her eyesight isn’t the worst in the world - much worse for things far away than things close to her - so she’s able to see better without them in the humid air. In the next room over, she can hear Reis singing as she scrubs off the dirt from their travels. Some old tune in Petean, about fjords and oxen. Her singing voice is surprisingly good...

Finally, they go upstairs to their rooms, which they found to be just across the hall from each other. Reis immediately flops on her own bed, and Saria does the same, sinking into sheets with a sigh. With the doors open, they can even see each other. Reis waves tiredly to Saria, grinning still. 

“Beds. Best invention man ever came up with,” she says, just about audible around being muffled by the soft pillow. The mattress, too, is softer than anything Saria has ever laid on before. It’s like a cloud. 

“I could sleep here for days,” she admits, all the fatigue of being on the road for days and days catching up with her at once. 

“Ya gotta get up tomorrow for your shoes,” Reis yawns, rolling over and stretching out. “I don’t, though, so I’m gonna steal your idea.”

“That’s not fair…” Saria mumbles, frowning but not quite able to put enough energy into it. “I don’t want to go on my own…”

“I will be with you,” Reis tries to inject as much drama as she can into the words while actively falling asleep. “In spirit.”

“Pfft,” that gets a small laugh out of Saria, as she lazily pulls the thick blankets up over herself, eyes drifting shut. “G’night…”

She gets only a snore in reply.

\----

The next morning, they awake to heavy rain outside. Thunder rumbles overhead and shakes the house, but it’s not the same sort that unsettled Saria as she saw that unnatural black cloud roll over the camp a few days before. This is just normal rain, she feels certain, but it’s really not the best conditions for hunting. Reis rubs the back of her neck and stares out of the window in thought.

“Man, even if we need to get going, it feels really bad to just accept these people’s generosity without giving anything in return. But my only real skill that’s useful to them is hunting, and a village this small isn’t going to have much use for a scribe either…” she turns and looks at Saria. “Do you think we should stay one more night and hope tomorrow’s better?”

Saria, by far more cheerful now she’s slept in a bed for the first time in a while, nods in agreement. “Sure, I don’t think it’s smart to travel in this weather anyway. We’d only be miserable and wet, and the horses would catch a chill.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Reis smiles, reassured about her decision. “Okay, let’s go tell Ronnie that we’ll need these rooms for one more night.”

Ronnie, it turns out, is more than happy to have them for another night, remarking on the novelty of having new people in town. When Saria asks why nobody comes this way very often, Ronnie looks briefly awkward, and says, “I’ll tell you later,” before ushering them both out of the door with umbrellas to jog quickly through the rain-flooded streets to the tailors.

True to their word, the tailor and cobbler have both finished Saria’s outfit and shoes respectively. A thick wool cloak dyed a dark mossy green, with a long beige tunic that reaches her knees, complete with little flowers stitched into the hem makes up the majority of the outfit. There are also a pair of trousers, something Saria has never worn and always associated with the people of the north. Her new shoes, made of thick leather and insulated with suede on the inside, are almost totally waterproof. The whole set is a damn sight warmer than Saria’s old cotton tunic.

“This is some quality workmanship!” Reis praises, looking over the shoes with awe. “You’re wasted living in a little town like this, if you took your business to a big city, you’d make a mint!”

The cobbler and her husband look at each other in an odd silent exchange, but manage to smile for Reis and Saria nonetheless. They say they’ll keep the advice in mind. 

By the time they get back to the inn, Ronnie has breakfast prepared for them - smoked ham, eggs, and toast. While Reis wolfs the thing down, Saria frowns at her plate. There’s something definitely not right here…

“What’s up?” Reis asks, nudging her gently with her elbow. 

“... don’t you think they’re a little  _ too _ welcoming?” Saria responds in a hushed tone. “They have no obligations towards us… and they don’t even know for sure if you’re going to actually catch them anything. They’ve never even seen your bow. But they’re trusting us enough to feed and clothe us…” 

Reis pauses in chewing on a large chunk of ham. “... Sometimes people are nicer than you give them credit for, Saria, come on. I know stuff’s awfully cutthroat in the cities, but out in the countryside, people can be real nice! Look, the storm’s not likely to stick around for too long, and once it passes I’ll head out and hunt some big game that’ll properly pay our debt. A whole deer or something. Okay? It’ll be fine.”

Saria isn’t so sure, but Reis is so confident that it calms her nerves a little.

“But if it bothers ya so much, I’ll ask him.”

“What? No, don’t--”

When Ronnie goes past them, Reis waves a hand to attract his attention, and Saria shuts her mouth. “This food’s real good! You’re a great chef!” Reis grins.

He chuckles. “Aw shucks, you’re too kind.”

“Surely you wouldn’t just do this for anyone wandering through your town, right?”

“Mmn, well, like I said before, we don’t get many visitors…” he trails off, seems to consider something, then sighs and sits down at the table across from them. “Our town’s in a rough spot. People don’t come by for a good reason. It’s not that they don’t come here, that they  _ can’t _ .”

Saria’s eyebrows raise. “... what do you mean?”

“We’re cursed, miss," he says wearily. "No member of the town can leave, and very few people can enter. There’s a barrier around this place, stops anyone associated with the town from leaving it, and keeps most from entering. And also…” he frowns harder. “Robs us of the ability to grow and change. We cannot have children. We cannot get sick or grow old. We cannot even die.” 

Reis’ mouth is hanging open. “Holy shit. How long have you guys been here?”

“Who knows. Maybe a hundred years, by now. We’ve stopped counting. The taste of food has become bland, and seeing the same few people every day has left us numb to the company of each other. That’s why we’re so glad to see new people. Even just a little change, a little novelty, and we feel  _ alive _ again. As it stands…” he shakes his head. “We’re practically ghosts with bodies.”

“Yikes,” Reis mutters. “How’d we get in past the barrier?”

Ronnie looks between Reis and Saria for a moment, then shrugs. “Only a scholar of magic would know the answer to that. These things are a little beyond a simple innkeeper like myself. I hope this story doesn’t disturb you too much. We are, still, simple people just trying to make the best out of our situation.”

Reis nods understandingly, but Saria still can’t shake the feeling that there is something horribly wrong going on here, more than just the curse. For one thing, curses don’t turn up out of nowhere. They require angering a magical entity, or even a god. But the gods are long gone, too long to have been the source of this place’s misfortune. So… what happened?

Of course, during breakfast she can’t get any of her words out, and by the time they finish, the rain has finally stopped as well. Reis, excited to repay these people who have shown them kindness in the midst of their own unhappiness, immediately heads upstairs and grabs her bow-staff, skipping back down two steps at a time. 

“I’m going to make sure I get something good for these folks!” she declares, while saddling up Nairos. Saria watches her with concern, an anxious feeling gnawing at her at the thought of Reis going out on her own, and it apparently shows on her face, because Reis comes over and pats her on the shoulder. “Relax. Just go hang out in your room, take some time to rest before we get back on the road again. You’ve had a rough few days.”

“But…” she looks around at the damp forest, water still dripping off the upper branches of trees. It’s a beautiful place, but it’s also hard to see through all the branches and such. Since Reis’ bow relies on sight, will she be alright in this environment…? 

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, okay? I’ve got a good sense of direction if nothing else!” Reis grins at her, releasing Saria’s shoulder and walking to Nairos. She hefts herself up into the saddle. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

And with that, she rides off into the woods. Saria watches her go until the trees completely obscure her, before heading back inside the inn. There, she finds Lydia sat by the fireplace, enjoying a steaming cup of… something, from a tray on a low table with several mugs on it, and a large kettle of water. She looks up at Saria and does a double-take. “Oh! Well look at you, finally dressed warm enough for the weather. Whereabouts did you come from?”

“The south,” Saria replies vaguely, somewhat nervous to speak much more around this woman. She’d never been malicious or strange, but something about her makes Saria unsettled. It’s almost like with Midias, but Lydia isn’t rude or unhygienic, so Saria can’t figure out where it’s coming from.

“Ahh, right on the coast, perhaps? It’s so much warmer down there than up here, like two different worlds, almost! Not to mention, now Autumn is setting in, it’s only going to get colder. Have you ever seen snow before?”

Saria shakes her head, but it’s technically a lie. There was an unusual incidence of snowfall in Alexra several years prior, but it hadn’t settled, and was really melting in the air before it ever made it to the ground. But she had seen it on the mountain tops, from her perch on the library walls, painting them white against the crisp blue winter sky. She’d caught the snowflakes on her tongue back then, probably only about eight or nine years old.

“It’s quite beautiful here in the winter. I wish you could see it, but since you’re travelling north, you may see the snow before we do anyway!” Lydia laughs. She leans forward to the low table, and pours out another cup of something. “Fruit tea, Saria? Nice and warming on a rainy day.”

“Oh, um…” it’s rude to refuse an offered drink in Alexra, and she doesn’t know if the same custom extends up to the north. Lydia is looking at her expectantly. “... okay.”

She accepts the drink from Lydia, smelling it experimentally. It doesn’t smell bad, actually it smells quite sweet, fruity as the name suggests. She takes a small sip, and finds it’s not too hot, and indeed as nice as it smells. It warms her on the way down. Lydia continues to look expectant, so Saria offers a small smile and a nod to indicate that it’s good. 

“So, what takes you on your travels?” Lydia asks, making conversation as she sips her own tea. The cup has patterns of alpine clematis, something she often saw illustrated in her books.

“... um. A delivery?” Saria says, taking a moment to look at her own cup. Ferns, it seems. “There’s a book that needs to go to Albaines…” as she looks at the painted leaves, they almost seem to sway. She blinks her eyes rapidly. 

“Are you alright dear? You seem tired.” 

Saria feels more than tired. Exhaustion seems to crash over her like a merciless wave, knocking the strength out of her limbs. She barely manages to set the cup down before she drops it entirely, trying to focus her eyes enough to look at Lydia, her tongue heavy in her mouth. No… what is this… she wants to ask, but before she can, darkness takes her.

\----

_ It’s cold. The ground is wet under her feet and her white dress is soaked from ankle-length hem to knee. Her feet pace one in front of the other, if only because she thinks that if she stops, she will fall, and never get up again. The woods are dark and strangely quiet, no hoot of owls, nor rustle of foxes, nor wind in the branches. It’s just her, disturbing this perfect tranquility. She needs to find her way back. She needs to go home. Her heart aches with it. _

_ At first she thinks it is the moon that shines so brightly from between the trees, but the moon would never be so low. Standing in her pathway is a beautiful, shimmering white horse, with hide like the brightest pearls, and hair like spun silver. From its forehead comes magnificent spiraled horn, refracting light like delicate glass.  _

_ Stunned and in awe of its beauty, her legs finally give way, and she falls at its hoofed feet. Gently, it noses at the back of her head, then nudges her shoulder. The soft touch somehow returns to her some of her strength, and she is able to raise her head, and shakily stand again, leaning on the beautiful beast’s side for support. It gazes at her with a gentleness that could make her weep, from those deep, dark eyes like the night sky itself. With just that look, it seems to understand her implicitly and, letting her continue to lean on it, turns to walk slowly with her down the path, guiding her steps. _

_ The lights of the village loom in the distance, growing closer with every step. It seems different, this night. A large bonfire has been lit in the square, and there are a number of people outside. A platform has been erected not far from the flames, and there is someone standing on top of it. The shadows cast on their face by the fire make it difficult to tell who they are. _

_ The unicorn stops at the edge of the village’s circle of houses, and she stops with it. Though there are many people in the village square, nobody seems to be moving. The entire place falls into stillness. _

_ On the platform, the person holds out a staff. In their other hand, they have an arrow, but it looks odd - the shaft is silver, and the head is glimmering brightly, like the unicorn’s horn. The great beast leans its head back when it sees it, grunting and stomping its hooves. Somehow, to look at it makes her feel faintly sick, and deeply saddened. _

_ The staff is now a bow. The arrow is nocked, and drawn back. _

_ No… _

No! 

Saria blinks herself back into reality and sees the truth before her. Reis, dull eyed and yet gaze focused on the unicorn beside her, has her bow prepared to fire that terrible arrow straight at the beast that guided her back here. The unicorn itself seems reluctant to leave Saria’s side, but clearly upset by Reis’ arrow - where did she even get such a thing?

“Let us free from this curse, monster!” cries Lydia. “Or we shall free  _ ourselves _ from it!”

“No, stop! What are you doing?!” Saria busts out. “Reis, don’t shoot!” 

Reis doesn’t respond. She stands, poised and ready to fire. Lydia clicks her tongue. “You shouldn’t be awake yet, child. This could have gone painlessly for you. We only needed an untainted girl to guide the monster to us.”

“This isn’t a monster! Where did you get that arrow, it looks-- it  _ feels _ all wrong!”

“So you have a latent sense for magic. That explains how you got through the barrier. To kill a unicorn, you can only use another unicorn’s horn!”

“But where did you  _ get _ something like that from?! You--” 

Something is communicated to her, not through words, but through a sudden feeling that travels down her arm, from where she touches the unicorn’s side, and into her mind. She looks up at the silvery beast, its dark eyes full of grief and fury. That arrow…

“... you made that arrow from this unicorn’s mate!” she gasps. “That’s… that’s horrible!” 

“It was shot by accident by a hunter one day! We are not to blame, and yet here we suffer still, after so long!” Lydia shouts, face contorted into inhuman shapes by the harsh shadows from the bonfire. “But all this time has given me plenty of opportunity to study the magic arts, and find out how to end this once and for all. If the unicorn does not release us, then by the gods, it will join its mate!”

“You can’t  _ threaten _ someone at arrowpoint for forgiveness!” Saria yells back incredulously. “Have you even tried to apologise, or make amends?!”

“To a monster and a beast? Never! Take aim!”

“Reis, no!” her heart is in her throat. She won’t. She wouldn’t, right? But Reis barely seems to be conscious of what she’s doing, expression uncharacteristically and terrifyingly blank. Lydia is smirking, as though she has already won.

“Fire!”

“NO!”

In a flash, faster than she thought she could ever move, Saria throws herself in front of the unicorn, arms wide, straight into Reis’ sight line. The bow of Frejya fires ever true, and with a moment’s whiz through the air, the arrow strikes. The force of it knocks the air out of Saria, sending her wheezing to her knees on the ground, as red hot agony blossoms around her abdomen. 

The unicorn whinnys and neighs, rearing up and kicking its front hoofs out, standing over Saria with its ears back and teeth bared. Its moonlight skin glows brighter than before, almost painful to look at, had Saria not already closed her eyes from the pain. The people of the village are in uproar, which quickly turns to cries of fear as the light from the unicorn seems to actively burn them. The wind picks up sharply, and bonfire is snuffed out by it like a mere candle flame. The mass panic fades into the background of Saria’s senses, as the dizzying pain and breathlessness catch up with her. It hurts. It hurts… 

“Saria!”

Reis' voice… so she’s awake now. That’s good. Whatever Lydia did to her, she couldn’t hold onto it while all the chaos erupted around them. Some sort of spell, maybe similar to whatever she did to Saria in the first place.

There’s an aggressive grunt from the unicorn still standing over her. It’s funny… it’s so bright now, it seems like daytime. 

“Please, please let me near her, I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Saria, please be okay, say something! Anything!”

Saria tries to draw breath in. It’s hard, but she manages. “Good… aim…”

“Gods, now isn’t the time for jokes! Okay, okay, uh, shit, shit, need something to stop the bleeding,  _ damn _ this bow!” there’s a loud clatter of a wooden staff thrown across the cobbles. Reis' voice cracks as she speaks. “Please, you can’t die, Saria, you can’t die, I need you!”

“Reis… are you… crying?” Saria wonders if maybe blood loss is making her delirious. She never pictured Reis as the type to cry over things. Or the type to cry at all. 

“Of course I am! You’re hurt and you might die and it’s my fault!” Reis sniffs in between each word. She probably looks like a mess. Saria kinda wishes she could see. “We should have gone the long way around, or just kept walking! I should have listened to you when you said this town shouldn’t be here, or when you had all those bad gut feelings! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t leave me…”

There’s a soft nudge at Saria’s side, just like before when she lost her strength at the unicorn’s feet. Then, the feeling of something cold dripping onto her, onto her open wound. It doesn’t hurt as much… in fact, now it doesn’t hurt at all. She can breathe again, and blinks her eyes open.

It’s bright now because it actually  _ is _ daytime, the sun above them in the sky meaning it’s almost noon. They’re sitting in a destroyed town square, amongst dilapidated houses and collapsed buildings. The remains of a long burned out bonfire sit in the middle, and Reis is on her knees a few feet away from Saria, with tear stained cheeks and green eyes wide. Saria looks up at the unicorn standing over her, and finds it, too, is weeping, beautiful silver tears that drop onto where her wound once was, and now is only a hole in the white dress someone seems to have put on her at some point. 

“Saria…?” Reis asks uncertainly. 

Saria sits up, poking at where the hole in her used to be. Nothing. Just a faint red scar. “I’m… okay? I’m okay,” she looks over at Reis with a relieved smile. 

“You’re… you’re okay!” Reis cries, bursting into fresh tears, and lunging forwards to grab Saria and pull her into a tight hug and sobbing on her shoulder. “Thank every god that ever blessed the world, you’re okay!”

The unicorn, watching this scene, seems to find some sort of satisfaction. It stops crying, and raises its head, looking out across the destruction. Saria does the same, while gently patting Reis’ back. This place looks too run down for it to have just happened. But then, magic is all sorts of weird. She can’t claim to be an expert on the subject, since book learning for something so entwined with feeling and nature as magic rarely works out, but she knows she’s read  _ something _ about curses stopping or looping time locally, and then when the curse is released, the whole area regains all that ‘stored up’ time at once. 

As her eyes glance around the town, she’s relieved to see the stable is relatively untouched, with Kolls and Nairos looking out at them from it, or more importantly, at the unicorn. With a toss of the unicorn’s head, the gates of the stables swing open, and the two horses trot over, stopping a short distance away and lowering their heads respectfully. Reis looks up from making Saria’s shoulder all soggy with tears, sniffs, and smiles. “Thank you.”

Saria, too, turns herself around in Reis’ arms - she doesn’t think Reis is going to let go for a while, and somehow she’s fine with that - and smiles as well. “I hope you find your own peace. Thank you.”

And with that, the unicorn turns, and trots off into the forest again. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulge me, if you will, a little sidestory from the main questline. I like stories with time loops, and a little murder mystery!


	5. Chapter 5

Getting back on the road after that whole mess in the cursed village is almost a relief. Somehow, Saria’s new clothes aren’t subjected to the same wear and tear of time that the rest of the village, so she finds herself in possession of an actual winter-worthy outfit. She’s thankful to find her book in amongst the clothing, similarly undamaged, and leaves the strange white dress that now has blood stains and hole in the middle in its place. Reis gathers her bow again, and pilfers a heavy wool cloak from the wreckage of Lydia’s house, with a passing comment of, “If she’s going to puppeteer me to shoot you, then stealing her stuff is fair game.” Saria doesn’t argue against it.

There’s no sign of any further poor weather as they continue on the path through the forest - actually, the sun seems stronger than ever and warms them as they pass under the dappled shade of the trees. Saria feels slightly spoilt by the nice food they had at the inn, as now when she reaches into their supply bags, she finds only jerky, dried fruits, and wheatcakes.

As she holds the vaguely round, tasteless slab of fiber and carbohydrates in her hand, she feels a sudden melancholy come over her again. Milya’s impassioned hatred of these things echoes in her mind, and she wonders if she will ever be able to get through a day without feeling sad about something related to her old home. And there’s so  _ much _ that relates back to it…

“I hate ‘em too,” Reis comments, seeing Saria’s face as she stares at the wheatcake. “They absorb all the moisture from your mouth and end up just making you feel parched. They’re fine if you dip them in gravy, but we don’t have that, so…” She sticks her tongue out and makes a face. Saria smiles, despite her mood. 

“Well, we could stop in another town and get some?” she unfolds the map and rests it on the back of Kolls’ neck. They have, by now, gone past that town they actually saw marked on the map. Reis had seemed reluctant to stop, though Saria didn’t get any bad feelings that time. The next stop, according to the map, is at the edge of the forest, apparently a major city called Tormund. Saria’s eyes scan the landmarks, and she does a double take at one in particular. 

Reis leans over halfway off Nairos to look at the map. “Li… leeebro… Ohh! Library! They’ve got a library. Maybe we can get an updated map or something as well.”

Saria tries not to get too excited. The library, as it’s shown on the map, is much smaller than the one in Alexra just at a glance. But still… the opportunity to be amongst such a wealth of knowledge again… now that makes her heart race. 

The weather holds true even as the trees thin and the road becomes wider and more populated. Other horses ride past them pulling carts full of goods. The forest is replaced by fields, with grazing cattle (cows are bigger than Saria thought) and growing crops ready for the autumn harvest. Workers in orchards pick apples and pears, and Reis grabs two from a tree overhanging the road, tossing one to Saria, who catches it. It’s sweet and juicy, and would probably make the wheatcake bearable to eat, if she felt like ruining the taste.

The city gates stand tall, made of stone and wood and guarded by men on the outposts who watch them ride in with hawklike gaze. Reis keeps her head high under their scrutiny, but Saria finds herself cringing. Once past the gates, the number of people increases tenfold, and she feels old anxieties begin to rise in her again. Being up on Kolls both helps and doesn’t - the crowd can’t bump into her or suffocate her, but they do end up looking at her as she goes by. Reis takes the map from her hands and tries to navigate, but it’s not detailed enough to give them streets. 

“‘Scuse me!” she says, stopping Nairos next to a fruit stand. “Which way to the library?”

“You go up here, turn right, take a left at the red-painted tavern, and then you’ll see it,” the merchant replies, and the accent surprises Saria. It’s a lot rougher than she thought northerners would sound like.

“Great, thanks!” Reis grins.

They continue up the street in silence for a while, and pass the lively looking tavern. Saria sees Reis’ gaze linger on it, but she doesn’t stop Nairos walking. “You don’t have to come with me to the library,” Saria says, perhaps a little too quiet to hear over the noise of the street sellers hawking their goods. “You could go to the tavern and get a good meal…”

Reis shakes her head. “Nah. Last time we split up, all sorts of crazy stuff happened. I’m sticking with you. Besides, I wanna see what it is about libraries that makes you make that face.”

“I make a face?”

“Yeah, like your birthday and Diana’s Feast came all at once. It’s a good face! I like it. Not, uh, that your face isn’t good all the time. I like your face in general. Uh,” she coughs awkwardly. “Oh look, there’s the library!”

Sure enough, at the end of the street they are currently walking on, there is a large building. It’s totally enclosed, nothing like the pillared structure in Alexra, and has windows with glass in them instead of drapes of fabric hanging from a vaulted ceiling. It  _ is _ still a little more impressive than the surrounding buildings, taller by two storeys and with a neatly chiseled  _ Tormund Library _ on the stone facade. The large wooden front doors are carved with winding trees, and one of them is propped open by a large stone. The inside is dark, but Saria can see a few figures moving about. Her heart leaps up into her throat with joy.

Reis is looking at her, smiling in an oddly soft way. “See? Face.”

Saria is too excited to get flustered. She urges Kolls on through the crowd, and he obediently trots ahead. There’s a place to water horses just to the side of the library, and she barely finishes tying Kolls’ reins to it before she jogs around to the library’s front entrance, Reis not far behind. 

Entering through the front doors, out of the sun and into the dim space of the library, Saria takes in a deep breath, and lets it out in a sigh. The smell of old paper and ink, leather and binding, never fails to raise her spirits. For a few moments she just stands there in the entranceway, soaking it all in, before she hears a pointed cough to her left, and looks over to see the owner. A brown haired, slightly gangly young man around her age is squinting at her through his square-framed glasses, looking her and Reis up and down with an expression that can only be described as resigned disdain.

“And what,” he says, his northern accent seeming to highlight how clipped his speech is. “Are you doing in here?”

“... this is the public library, isn’t it?” Saria says, wondering if this is actually the wrong section. She knows that some buildings reserve sections of the rarer books only for members. 

The boy sniffs. “Yes. It is. But what are  _ you _ doing in here.”

Saria isn’t sure if this is a trick question or not. “I… was hoping I could… read?”

“Well  _ I  _ hope you can read as well, or else you’d find yourself out of luck coming into a library,” the boy says snootily, with a mean smirk. 

“Wow, guy, I hope you bought that comeback on sale because it’s cheap as horseshit,” Reis replies with false cheer, hands on her hips. “What are you, the gatekeeper of the world’s knowledge?”

“I,” the boy says, standing up straighter. “Am a librarian.”

“Oh, cool, Saria’s one too,” Reis slings an arm around Saria’s shoulder. “Bet you can talk about librarian things together, if you’re willing not to be a snobby dickhead.”

“What?” the boy looks Saria up and down again. “Girls can’t be librarians.”

Reis’ eyebrows shoot up to almost hit her hairline. “Hahaha, oh wow, you’re kidding right?”

“I never kid.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Reis folds her arms. “Look, man, just let her look around for a bit, okay? She’s not gonna do any harm to your library. Actually I think she’d rather break her own spine than one on a book.”

Reis is, of course, right about this, and Saria can’t deny it. But the boy continues to look at Reis with outright disgust, now totally ignoring Saria’s presence. “And while she does that, what’s some ruffian scrub like yourself going to do here? This isn’t the place for a date, loverboy, so scram.”

Reis looks around her comically, before pointing to herself. “ _ Loverboy _ ?” she half-laughs, still not totally convinced this guy is for real. “Oh gods, that’s great, what’s your name buddy?”

“I am Liam,” he replies, trying to inject as much gravitas into it as he can, apparently. His attempt only serves to make Reis burst into actual laughter, which doesn’t do much to calm him. “And I will not permit you entrance to this library if you’re just going to mess around. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the guard, and they’ll  _ make _ you leave.”

“This is incredible. Do you really want to make a big deal out of this,  _ Liam _ ?”

“Reis, let’s just go,” Saria says quietly.

“What? Saria, you can’t just let him push you around with his northern sexist bullshit, come on!”

“I’m not letting him push me around. This just isn’t a fight worth having,” she keeps her gaze on the floor, and slips out from under Reis’ arm. “It’s just a library. There’ll be others. Let’s go,” then she turns and walks out.

She can feel Reis’ eyes on her back as she leaves, and then hears her say, “... watch your back, bucko,” before running to catch up with her. The sun outside seems a lot harsher after the dim library. “Hey, Saria, don’t take any of his shit seriously, okay? I should have warned you that some northerners are still a bit, uh… like that. You know? They say it’s cultural but I just think it’s bullshit.”

“It’s okay,” she says, walking back to the horses and feeling the weight of the Mohra book shift on her back. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It  _ does _ matter,” Reis says, catching her arm and stopping her for a moment. “And if you want me to go sort him out, I can totally do that.”

“Reis…”

“Really! You were looking forward to this and one asshole with a superiority complex shouldn’t ruin the whole thing for you! You need to be able to get mad when people treat you like that, you can’t just take it lying down!” Having expended some of the frustration in herself, she lessens her grip on Saria’s arm. “... it’s just not fair. You deserve to have some fun.”

Saria turns to face her. Reis’ brows are pinched and her jaw is set, and she looks imploringly back at Saria for some kind of permission to make things right. That’s the thing about Reis, Saria realises. Even for someone who’s been living a bandit lifestyle for years, she’s very much about fairness and justice. And things like this upset her because they fundamentally clash with that. Despite everything, Saria finds herself smiling.

“It’s fine, Reis. Really. Besides, it’s not even a  _ big _ library, and it’s in the middle of some random town, so it probably doesn’t have anything I haven’t already read.”

“But…”

“That guy can’t be as smart as he thinks he is, because all the Librarians in Alexra were women. All of them, Milya, Orpa, Namia… me, I guess.” It really warms her heart that Reis describes her as a Librarian to people, even if she isn’t official. “So, I don’t need to take the opinions of a half-assed librarian seriously anyway.”

Reis gives a mock gasp. “Saria, you just swore!”

Saria inclines her head pridefully. “I did.”

“I’m such a bad influence on you. Let’s go to the tavern, where at least people aren’t pretentious!”

“I  _ knew _ you’d want to go there.”

\----

At the very least, they end up finding a map from a seller nearby, which allows Reis to actually read it without straining herself over Albainese spelling. It only takes Reis going back out to the forest, shooting a few pheasants, selling them to the butcher, and getting enough coins for the map and a room in the tavern for the night. Sitting in a dimly lit corner of the tavern’s bar as the evening draws in, she walks her fingers across the map, counting under her breath. “... approximately one more day’s ride to Kalis, the main port to Albaines itself. If we set off early in the morning, we can make it there by afternoon. Then it’s about half a day’s voyage across the straits of Alba, making land in the port of Dovra. Then, ugh… two day’s ride even further north to get to Avalon.”

Saria has heard a lot said about the city of Avalon. Some say the walls are made of pure granite, glimmering as white as the chalk cliffs. Others say the city itself has absolutely no crime, due to the system of chivalry and knights that patrol it and the surrounding land. Of course, these accounts all come from Albainese texts, so who knows if they have any truth to them. She’ll shortly find out. 

“The main problem is Kalis,” Reis taps the map as she sips her beer. “From asking around the tavern, I’ve heard a lot about people who have reason to fear Hindshokhani rule and the means to pack up and get the hell outta dodge all doing so en masse. So the port’s gonna be crowded. I’m not really sure how to let the people there know we’re a priority to get on the boats…”

“I don’t think we can sneak ourselves and two horses on…” Saria says, looking out of the window briefly to where Nairos and Kolls are standing side by side in the tavern’s stables. “And neither of us have documents either.”

Reis waves a hand around. “I can forge those.”

“You… can?” 

“Yeah. To be honest, I don’t like the whole documentation system Prash and Albaines use. Sure, it’s to stop their diplomatic enemies from getting into the country, but for one thing it’s flawed as hell because an idiot like me can forge them, and for another thing, their enemies are  _ Hindshokhani _ . If they really want to get in, they’ll get in.”

“... you have, um, some surprising opinions sometimes.”

Reis shrugs a shoulder. “Petean citizenship doesn’t count for shit, and you don’t have any to begin with, so maybe I just don’t like it because me and everyone I like gets left out by default.”

That brings her mind back to the other Petean travelers, Lor, and Keion. She looks at her glass of water thoughtfully. “I hope everyone’s okay…”

Reis sits in silence for a few moments, before knocking back her beer and setting the tankard down with a thud. “Eh, they’ll be fine. Uncle Lor is a hard nut to crack. Heart stronger than Petean steel.”

“Are all your arrowheads Petean steel?”

Reaching into her pocket, Reis pulls one out. It glimmers, smooth and silver, in the light of the fireplace. “Most of ‘em. I save the Petean ones for when a shot really counts, I don’t use them on just hunting animals. And I always make sure to dig them back out of whatever I shoot. Ain’t gonna get any more of them, after all,” she turns it over in her hands. “As for what makes ‘em special…” she holds the arrowhead point-down over the map, from just a little way up, and lets it go. It drops, and sticks straight upright, through the paper and into the wooden table under it. “They’re perfectly balanced and sharp. The craftsmanship is second to none, though a lot of it is due to the materials. That’s why the Hindshokhanis wanted our land so much - the metal in the mountains makes weaponry that can’t be beat.”

Saria listens with rapt attention, examining the arrowhead where it sticks out of the map, just a little way from Kalis itself. Reis picks it up and pops it back in the thick leather pouch she got it from. Saria supposes it probably needs to be that thick to not have the arrowheads cut it open all the time. “I wish I could see Petea…”

“Yeah. I wish I could too,” Reis rubs the back of her neck and sighs. “Sometimes, I feel like a fake. Like I’m not really Petean. I was born there, but I grew up in Prash. I barely have any memories of Petea. Hell, even my tongue works better with Prashian than Petean. Without Lor around, I barely speak it…”

“... Um, well, I’ve been trying to learn Petean?” Saria offers.

Reis raises her head in surprise. “You have?”

“Just from books. Old ones, that the Library had. I don’t know if my speaking is any good though. Actually, it’s probably really bad.”

Despite Saria’s self-depreciation, Reis’ face has lit up. “Introduce yourself in Petean!”

Put on the spot, Saria fumbles for a moment. “Uh… <Hello, I am Saria>?”

Reis laughs, but not in a mean way. In fact, she seems delighted to hear her language spoken. “Wow! You’re better than you think! Just, you know, you don’t have to be formal. <Hi, I’m Saria> works way better between people who know each other.”

“Okay… <Hi, I’m Saria.>”

“There you go! You’re getting it!” Reis grins at her. “Oh, this is awesome, we can practice while we travel! And since nobody else really speaks Petean these days, it can be like our secret code!”

That smile is so infectious that Saria finds herself grinning too. “Okay. Our top secret, well documented and historically relevant code language, that a lot of classical scholars learn to read along with Albainese.”

“Shhh, let me have this moment.  _ Code language _ .” 

By the time they head to bed, Saria has learned more about Petean than she ever could have out of a book. Apparently,  _ written _ Petean is historically always in formal code, while spoken Petean ranges through three different modes of address, and in the modern day, the formal kind is rarely, if ever, used. She even manages to delight Reis by repeating back some Petean swear words that she would never  _ dare _ say in Prashian for fear of her face catching alight with embarrassment. They rise the next day and greet each other in Petean, and resupply their food for the road before setting out with high spirits to the port of Kalis.

\----

They reach the end of the queue to the port long before they arrive at Kalis itself. The hills of northern Prash slope down towards the sea, and snaking down the road to the port city is a line so stock-still and full of people that vendors of food and water have set up shop on the side of the road to snatch up the opportunity for an almost literal captive market. Weary travellers, too, have made camp on the sides of the road, and in some places further down the line, look like they’ve been there for days. 

Reis looks ahead of them, squinting down to the port several miles ahead. “I… don’t actually see any ships,” she comments, and indeed, every dock is empty. “What happened…?”

“They closed the port,” one of the people in the line pipes up, a man sitting on the back of a wagon playing a board game against another, older gentleman. They look like they’ve been at it a while. “Rumour has it something’s gone down in Albaines. But it’s only rumour.”

“Something?” Saria asks, brow pinching in worry. “What… kind of something?”

“They say the king is dead,” chips in the older man. “And so nobody goes in or out until the next one is crowned. Which is all well and good but…”

“The king has no direct living heir. No sons, no daughters. Unfortunate, for such a beloved monarch. The people would love to see his line continue. No fault of his queen neither - they’ve had many children, they simply didn’t survive out of childhood,” the younger man moves a piece on the board, and the older immediately moves his own piece, taking it. “Tch. You old geezer.”

“Don’t get cocky, I’ve been at this longer than you have,” the old man grins.

“So, wait, nobody’s getting in or out until the next king is coronated? We don’t have that kinda time!” Reis cries, gesturing helplessly. “We have to get to Albaines before Hindshokhani forces arrive here!”

“Yeah? Well get in line, kid,” the old man rolls his eyes, jabbing in the direction of the end of the enormous queue. “You ain’t special. Nobody here wants to see Hindshokhanis roll over that hill. But unless you figure out how to walk on water, or find a boat, you’re shit outta luck.”

“Damn it. Come on Saria, let’s at least go check the situation in town,” Reis grumbles, urging Nairos on. Saria follows on Kolls, a pit of dread in her stomach. What if they don’t make it? What if Hindshokhanis really do catch up with them? Won’t all their hard work and days spent riding be for nothing?

The town itself is just as bad as outside, packed to bursting with travellers and very irritated locals. Trying to get the horses through the crowd is like wading through treacle. Over the din of thick crowds of people, Saria hears more pointed shouting ahead.

“You have to listen to me--!” 

“Scram, beggar girl!”

“This is important, you don’t understand--!”

“Saria?” Reis stops Nairos beside her, and Saria realises she’s halted Kolls too. There’s a lot of commotion going on outside what looks like a captain’s office, if the anchor and rope sign hanging outside the door is any indication. A small, hooded person in rags, holding a walking stick taller than they are, is trying to force their way inside. Several much beefier sailors are rebuffing them. Everyone around the area seems to be giving them a wide berth, turning their eyes from the scene.

“I can offer my services, I have--!” the raggedy person cries, and from their voice Saria assumes they’re a woman, or perhaps a young boy. However, the sailors cut them off again.

“You think we want anything from you? Get lost!” and with a heavy shove, the sailor pushes the raggedy person off the captain’s office porch, right into a muddy puddle. Laughing, the other sailors turn and walk back into the office, closing the door with a slam. 

“Yikes,” Reis mutters, urging Nairos forward and hopping down out of the saddle next to the raggedy person, who jumps in surprise. “You okay? Want me to go sort ‘em for ya?”

It’s now that Saria gets close enough to get a proper look at this individual. Under all the hood and rags and now the muddy water, she can tell this person is, in fact, a young girl, possibly a little younger than Saria herself. What’s more, when she looks up at her and Reis, her eyes are covered by a thick binding of bandages. She doesn’t seem hindered by or unused to their presence, and so Saria assumes that she must be blind. For a moment, the girl’s expression wavers between shame, confusion, and fear, before she turns her face in Reis’ general direction. 

“Can you help me?” she asks, in a voice that sounds like she’s a few seconds from crying. “I don’t know what else to do any more…”

“Well, that depends what you need help with. Let’s get you out of the puddle first,” Reis takes the girl’s hand, and pulls her to her feet. Then, she hands her the tall walking stick that she dropped, making sure the girl has it firmly gripped. “What’s your name?”

“Edana,” she replies, slightly miserable still, and sniffing. “Thanks for picking me up, um…”

“I’m Reis. This is Saria. And no problem, those guys were assholes. Who pushes over a blind person anyway, much less someone just asking for help?”

“Reis… Saria. This is a bit of a stretch to ask of two people who I’m sure have places to be…”

“Well, it’s not like we’re able to  _ get _ to where we’re going at the moment, right Saria? The port’s closed and all, so unless we find a way across to Albaines, we’re stuck too.”

“You’re trying to go to Albaines?” Edana says, eyebrows raising above her bandages. 

Saria nods, but then realises the action is useless, and says, “Yes, we are.”

“That’s perfect! If you help me, I can get you across there as repayment!” a smile bursts wide on Edana’s face, and she bounces on her heels, layers and layers of torn up, damp old rags flopping about. Her hood shifts enough that she can see russet red hair under all the dirt. She drops her voice and leans in. “I have a boat!”

“You do?!” Reis says excitedly, and much too loudly, as Edana shushes her. 

“We can’t let just anyone know! We’ll be inundated by people wanting to hop on! It’s not very big, but it’ll be enough to get us and your horses across the strait… if you can help me find it.”

“... help you find it,” Reis repeats back.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m blind - but I haven’t always been. I moored my boat upstream from the sea, intending to hop off and keep it away from the busy port. But then, as I was leaving towards Kalis, I was ambushed, blinded, and I got completely lost. I found my way to town after several days. Now I can’t find my way back… I’ve been asking all around for help for such a long time I’ve lost count, but everyone thinks I’m just some beggar!”

“You do dress like one,” Saria says before she realises it, and covers her mouth. Edana glowers in her general direction. “Sorry…”

The frown doesn’t stay on for long, and Edana sighs. “No, you’re right. The attacker ruined my clothes too. I’m sure I must look a proper mess…”

Reis is frowning in concern. “Okay! We’re going to do our best to help you. In return, you let us use your boat to cross the strait. Deal?” she holds out her hand to shake.

Edana doesn’t take it. 

“... oh, right,” Reis gently takes Edana’s wrist and moves her hand up so she can shake it. “Deal!”

\----

Of course, since they only have two horses, and Saria is wary of contact with Edana especially when she’s still covered in muddy water, Reis has to let her ride on the back of Nairos with her. This doesn’t bother Saria, she tells herself. Why should it bother her? She didn’t get any particularly bad feeling from Edana, inherent grossness of rags and dirty street water aside. Her personality is pleasant enough as well, engaging in polite chatter with Reis as they ride along the road out of Kalis. Still, as Saria scowls at the map that shows, helpfully, the river that Edana must have moored somewhere on, she can’t help but keep glancing at the other two over on Nairos’ back. An unpleasant feeling, something like anger but without any reason she can immediately pinpoint, is churning in the back of her throat. Perhaps she’s sick with something.

“So, like, if you don’t mind me asking,” Reis continues her conversation with their new companion without noticing Saria’s glower in their direction. “What made you start journeying?”

“Well, I’m actually Albainese myself,” Edana replies, upbeat and chewing on a piece of jerkey from Reis’ backpack. “My family are traditional medicine women. I came abroad looking for particular herbs and plants to take back home, but of course, those are all on my boat.”

“Wow, a real life medicine woman! We don’t really have those in Prash,” Reis seems genuinely impressed, and somehow that burning feeling in Saria’s throat gets hotter. “Most of it’s done by science, not potion making or anything involving magic.”

“Magic, in itself, is a science,” Edana says primly, sticking her nose in the air with a smile. “If you know how to work it properly. One needn’t be a particularly skilled magician, if you have the correct ingredients in the first place.”

“Huh… really? And you learned all that from your family?”

“Quite! Passed down from mother to daughter.”

“And you’re allowed to leave home by yourself when you’re this young?”

“... I’m twenty six.”

“... oh!”

Edana bursts out laughing at Reis’ surprised tone, which makes Reis laugh as well. Saria could vomit right there and then, but that same feeling is what keeps her from saying anything, just glaring at the map. Despite having wandered for days on the way to Kalis, the place where Edana moored her boat shouldn’t be that far away, according to what’s written on the papyrus, but it seems that the waters run through a thickly wooded area, and the details get a bit vague on the placement of the river.

“Don’t sweat it, honestly,” Edana giggles, patting Reis’ arm. “I have a babyface, everyone thinks I’m way younger than I am. Some taverns wouldn’t even serve me beer.”

“Can’t imagine living like that. People always assume I’m older than I am because I’m tall,” Reis sighs. 

“Hm~, and well muscled,” Edana is now squeezing Reis’ forearm, and Saria decides she’s had enough. She nudges Kolls quite insistently in the side to urge him on ahead, ignoring when Reis calls out to question where she’s going. She can’t keep enduring this. Whatever this is.

The day is still bright and sunny but the trees grow thicker over the path as the river runs deeper into the forest. The actual road stops following it, veering off towards a less forested area, but there is an old deertrack path through the undergrowth that keeps tangential to the flow. The river is remarkably clear, and Saria can see all the way to the bottom, where silvery fish dart along its rocky bed. Reeds around the edge of it provide adequate shelter for frogs and tadpoles from the prying beaks of waterfowl that glide across the surface. 

When a familiar shuddering feeling passes through her, she stops Kolls dead in his tracks. The same sensation as before they entered the cursed village… but not quite. It doesn’t hold any dread, or malice, or uncertainty. Instead, it feels similar to stepping over a threshold into a room. Not her room, someone else’s. She’s intruding, but not trespassing. 

“... hello?” she calls, dismounting from Kolls and gently leading him to the edge of the river, tying his reins to a low branch of a tree. He doesn’t seem unsettled, and lowers his head to drink from the waters, glad for a break. No voice answers her call, but she senses there’s something here. Someone. 

Her feet take her further along the path, through lush green underbrush and towards a gap in the trees up ahead. She steps out of the bushes to find herself standing by a large lake. The surface is completely flat, reflecting the blue of the sky above like a perfect mirror. Only occasionally is there a slight ripple that ebbs out from the centre of the lake, sending a gentle wave to lap at the shores, which are ringed with strange purple blooms that she doesn’t recognise from any book she’s read. They fill the air with a delicate smell that isn’t quite sweet, but almost like the smell of grass after rain, even though the sky is clear.

It’s such an oasis of quiet and peace, that Saria doesn’t want to call out again in case she disturbs the pleasant atmosphere. Instead, she just sits down on the bank of the lake, slipping the book off her back and into her lap, and very gently dips her fingers in the cool water. Even the slight touch of her hand seems to make the calm surface ripple and distort, and as it does, she notices something below the surface.

The lake is  _ deep,  _ she realises first. Though the water is utterly clear, she can see that at the bottom, there is a decently sized ship. Seaworthy, she imagines, and with a frayed rope tied to it. It can’t possibly be…

“Ah, Saria! There you are!” calls Reis, walking up behind her and leading Edana by the arm. “Geez, don’t run off like that! You could have gotten… woah.” And she stops, seeming to finally notice where she is. “Wow, this place is really something.”

“This smell…” Edana says, sniffing the air. “There’s no mistake, this is the place. Are there lots of purple flowers around the lake?”

“Yeah, thousands. I don’t recognise them but they’re beautiful,” Reis says, walking towards the edge of the water. 

“They’re called Ladies of the Lake, and they’re vital to a number of potions,” Edana explains. “Is my boat…?”

“I don’t see it…” Reis looks around like it might just pop out of nowhere.

“It’s down there,” Saria points out, and Reis leans forward to look into the water, letting out a low whistle. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to use it to get to Albaines…”

“Yeah, sorry Edana. It’s wrecked.”

Edana stands there for a while, facing away from them and towards the Ladies of the Lake. She sniffs, following her nose and using her stick to make sure she doesn’t fall into the water while trying to reach the plants. Her hand reaches out to touch the beautiful purple blooms, and a ripple edges out across the lake. Saria straightens.

“I don’t think you should touch those.”

Reis looks at her, and then at Edana. “... yeah, uh, even if they’re important for stuff, maybe let’s not mess with them… Saria’s got a good sense about these things, you know?”

“I didn’t come all this way…” Edana says under her breath, in a voice that would be too quiet to catch if the area around them wasn’t so silent. “To not get these stupid fucking flowers!”

Before Reis can say anything, Edana rips a handful of them out of the ground, and Saria’s stomach drops. The sky overhead clouds over and plunges the area into dingy grey light, but the surface of the lake still reflects as bright a blue as it had before. The water shimmers and roils like it’s boiling, and from the very centre of it, a figure arises.

Clad head to toe in silver-blue armour, a knight with a flowing indigo cape stands on the surface of the lake, his face obscured entirely by a helm decorated with fins. He holds a longsword in front of him, and it gleams brightly in the strange light being cast from below him, not above. Even from far away he seems imposingly tall. With a clank of metal hitting metal, he shifts his position, raising his sword and pointing it at them all. 

“Ohhh, boy,” Reis says, holding her staff out in front of her defensively as Saria scrambles to her feet. “What is that, what the  _ hell  _ is that, how is he standing on water?!”

“He’s your problem now!” Edana says, and then throws a bunch of the flowers at Reis, who sputters and tries to bat them away, causing them to fall to the ground. This doesn’t seem to calm the knight any - in fact, as the blooms land in the muddy banks, an uncanny roar of fury rips through the air across the lake, echoed in kind by a rumble of thunder from above. 

“Are you for real right now!? You tricked us?!” Reis yells at Edana, but the ragged medicine woman is running away from them at full pelt, and Reis doesn’t have any time to spare on her, as the knight lunges at her, entirely too fast. It’s only thanks to Reis’ keen eyes and sharp reflexes that she holds up her staff in time to block the knight’s swing, and she grunts with the effort of keeping the momentum of it from knocking her off her feet. 

Edana skids to a stop and turns around. “Are  _ you  _ for real?! Did I just hear you block him?!”

“Yes!” Reis grunts, trying to push back against the knight - and succeeding, some what. After a moment’s struggle, the knight jumps back towards the centre of the lake, examining his blade in a way that Saria could only guess was bafflement. “What about it, traitor?!”

“How, you-- that sword’s magic! It cuts through anything!” Edana seems almost offended by the fact Reis hasn’t been immediately slain. “I had a shield that cost me 300 gold and weighed half a tonne and he destroyed it like it was nothing!”

“Magic sword, magic staff-bow thing, no big deal!” Reis grits her teeth, and takes position, drawing her bow back with an arrow nocked and ready. “Saria, get behind me!”

“R-right!” Saria stammers, still unable to quite absorb what’s going on around her. The air seems to be buzzing with energy, and the knight quickly recovers from his confusion, straightening his back and facing down Reis’ bow. 

Reis raises her voice. “Alright buddy, we don’t want any trouble! Just get back in your lake and we can all forget this ever-- shit!”

The knight disappears from their sight for a moment, moving so quickly that it’s only by following the skimming ripples across the surface of the lake that Reis can start shooting at him. But since she can’t get a good look at where he is, her arrows keep missing, skipping across the water like stones. 

“Gods! Damn! You! Stay! Still!” she punctuates each word with a new arrow fired - Saria has never seen anyone draw and loose a bow as fast as this before. Not content to follow Reis’ will, the knight stops dodging all around the lake and lunges forward, twisting in the air almost like a dancer around the arc of an arrow that would have otherwise found its mark quite accidentally. Armour clad feet stop at the edge of the water, and the knight’s arm draws back for a powerful slice. Reis manages to get the bow around to the side to block it, but the force of the blow is such that she’s thrown off her feet, knocking into Saria and sending her flying too. While Reis goes skidding across the lakeside banks, Saria is thrown at a different angle. Belatedly, she realises she’s still holding the book, just as she splashes into the water, and starts to sink.

Her first thought, of course, is that the book is ruined. The despair of having failed in her mission to protect and deliver such an important thing to safety is more painful than the lack of air, or the chill of the water, or the pressure as she sinks deeper. She holds the leather bound pages close to her as though she can keep the water away from it, keep it from soaking into the paper and bleeding the ink into unrecognisable shapes, no longer a half-lost language but merely a set of inkblots. She sees the shadow of Edana’s boat as she sinks past it - how deep is the lake, actually? It seems the boat is actually stuck to a slowly increasing, steep bank leading up to the surface. Then she thinks she doesn’t care. She’s a failure, so let her sink to the very bottom and stay there forever.

The bed of the lake is surprisingly soft, loose silt and old half-rotting weeds. Even the clear water eventually becomes so thick as to cause the depths to be murky. Saria’s lungs burn, and despite her misery she can’t force herself to let go of the last gasp of air in her chest. How long does drowning take?

Something shifts her body, raises her up. A tide? Some enormous fish? Stars and lights are beginning to burst in her vision as her head spins, and she knows she must be dying, because when she turns her head, an enormous face stares back at her. And then, it all goes dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little cliffhanger for you! Next chapter will be up soon, so don't sweat!


	6. Chapter 6

_ A baby is crying somewhere.  _

_ The sound wakes her up from deep sleep, and she raises her head, wondering what disturbed her peace and quiet. Then, there’s a loud splash, and the crying goes silent. There is something in her waters, something sinking. She shifts her body from amongst the silt and sand and raises her hands, and catches such a tiny, tiny form, barely the size of her thumb. Human babies hold their breath when they are unexpectedly submerged in water - a survival instinct from the womb, from before birth. It won’t last long on the bottom of the lake with her.  _

_ There is a small underwater cavern, with a pocket of air inside. Small for her, at the very least, but the baby looks dwarfed by its size, and as she places it on the mossy ground, it breaks into fresh cries. Bundled up tightly in an old blanket, her heart sinks as she becomes more awake, and realises the fate intended for this child.  _

_ How cold and cruel could humans be. She gently nudges the bundle of cloth, being ever so gentle so she can pat its little mop of dark hair, and soothe it as much as she can. Surprisingly, it seems to calm down, blinking open dark eyes at her, like the deepest depths of pools and rivers. She cannot bring herself to destroy them.  _

_ And so she doesn’t. _

Saria takes a sharp, sudden breath in, sitting up quickly from a bed of moss and cloth. Her gasp becomes a cough as she tries to spit up as much water as she can. As soon as she can be sure she has air, her hands start scrambling around for the book, and she finds it next to her, sodden and pages swollen. Her heart sinks again to see it, but as she watches, the water seems to seep out of it, across the stony cave floor, back towards the water’s edge. And as her eyes follow the little stream, she sees something in the deep water, or rather, someone.

An enormous figure of a woman leans on the side of the banks of the underwater cavern. Her hair is long and constantly flowing like a fountain, and her skin is a dark blue like ocean waters after a storm. As Saria gets to her feet quickly, she realises that this giant woman could easily hold her in her hands. Didn’t she remember getting picked up…? And then that odd dream… 

No, she realises as she looks around her at the cave, decorated with items like old wooden chairs, books, well-loved but carefully set aside toys, and even the bed she stands beside. That wasn’t a dream. That was someone else’s memory. Possibly, this person’s memory.

“Are you alright?” asks the giant woman, and even though Saria can tell she’s making an effort to speak softly, the entire cave reverberates with the sound. She has a genuinely concerned pinch to her brow, so Saria answers quickly.

“I’m… fine. Thank you for, um, saving me…”

Relieved, the woman smiles. “It is no matter. Your presence awoke me. But, what is someone like you doing in my lake?” 

“I…” Saria hesitates to reply. “I fell in. Or, I was knocked in. By accident. I’m sorry…”

The woman tilts her head, dark eyes like polished stones watching her curiously. “Ah. Was Lock playing a little too rough? I didn’t imagine he would ever try to hurt one like you.”

“Is… that the name of the knight? Because I don’t think he’s just playing,” Saria suddenly remembers Reis on the shore, surely still defending herself against his assault. “Can- can you tell him to stop attacking my friends? We didn’t mean to hurt your plants!”

“Plants? Oh, my garden?” the woman blinks, then sighs, and the breath nearly knocks Saria over. “Not again… He’s so overprotective. Nobody warned me about this part of raising boys, ondines are all female, usually. Or perhaps it’s simply a human trait...”

So, it’s true. This woman is one of the great elemental creatures of the world, so rarely seen that many deny they actually exist any more. An ondine, a spirit of water, a child of the gods. Saria has read about how they can range from the size of raindrops to enormous behemoths that can swallow up a man in one gulp, and she can certainly see how that would be possible with this one. 

The ondine woman closes her eyes for a moment. “Hm, yes, it seems he’s still fighting. Let us go and break it up, shall we?” and she holds out her enormous hand for Saria. Picking up her book, Saria hesitates, and the ondine notices. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry - that’s a Mohra book, correct?”

“You can tell?” Saria looks up at her.

“I sense the inherent magic within the pages. It will reject all but the most potent of damage, so simple lake water won’t harm it. But  _ you _ should hold your breath a moment.”

Reassured, Saria steps onto the ondine’s palm - it has an odd texture, still shifting like water under her feet, but somehow holding her weight. The ondine closes her fingers around her, using her other hand to cup her as well, and then sinks below the surface of the water. Saria holds her breath, but it doesn’t take nearly as long to get back to the top of the lake, and as they do, Saria can hear the rattle of armour and clash of weapons long before the ondine opens her hands and shows her the scene.

The banks of the lake are torn up and muddy, and the two combatants are as well. There are flecks of blood mixed into the dirt and the water, as the knight and Reis clash again, staff and sword crossing as they push against each other, trying to get the upper hand. Though Reis clearly prefers her bow, she’s no slouch when it comes to using it as a staff too, in close combat. This does not, however, render either fighter completely impervious to damage. Reis has a large gash in her cheek, and another on her arm. It doesn’t seem to be doing her any favours as she tries to hold the knight’s sword away from her neck. The knight has several dents in his silvery armour, and even some scorch marks from Reis’ magically charged arrows finding their marks.

“Lock!” the ondine booms, voice shaking the forest like a crashing wave on a shoreline. Her shout itself seems to clear the clouds above and restore daylight to the area. The knight jumps back and away from Reis, who immediately collapses to her knees.

“Reis!” Saria calls, worried and moving forward on the ondine’s hand. Reis’ head snaps up to look over at her in disbelief, not comprehending what she’s seeing. In fairness, Saria wouldn’t have expected herself to rise out of the lake on the hand of a giant woman either. 

“M-mother?” comes a new voice, and the knight takes his helmet off to expose his face. Long wavy locks of dark hair unfold from within the headpiece of the armour and end up draped across his shoulders. “You’re awake!”

“Just  _ what _ do you think you’re doing to that poor human girl!” the ondine scolds, gliding forwards through the water and gently depositing Saria on the banks, which allows her to run to Reis’ side. “And knocking people into the water as well, I raised you with better manners than this!”

The knight, Lock apparently, looks flustered. “But-- but they were trespassing, and stealing, and you weren’t awake for them to ask permission for your flowers! I was going to scare them off--”

“Well I think they’re thoroughly frightened! Look at them!” 

As the ondine launches into a tirade at her son, Saria, now kneeling next to Reis, hovers her hands anxiously over the injuries she’s sustained. “Are you okay, Reis?” 

“Well I think I might have hit my head a little too hard, because there’s an ondine, like, right there, scolding that magic knight dude like a frustrated mother of twelve,” Reis replies, breathless but able to give Saria a shaky smile. “Other than that, I’m managing-- ow!”

Retracting her hands quickly from the cut she accidentally touched, Saria starts apologising. “Sorry! Sorry… I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Me too. I thought you’d actually drowned, you were down there for so long…” she reaches out a hand and moves some of Saria’s wet hair out of her face, keeping her fingers there for a moment and looking at her face as though she’s afraid she’ll disappear before her eyes. 

A cough comes from beside them. The knight, sword sheathed at his side, is standing nearby looking thoroughly sheepish, his mother in the background with her arms folded. He glances over his shoulder at her, and she raises a single eyebrow. He looks back at Reis and Saria. “... my name is Lock, son of Nimué the Ondine. I am to give an apology to you for my actions,” he takes a deep breath. “I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t attack people without first stopping to ask them what they’re doing. I acted rashly, and I will cease hostilities with you immediately.”

Reis rubs the back of her neck, looking up at the knight. “... well, Saria’s okay, so, I guess no hard feelings. Truce?” she holds up a hand to him.

After hesitating, Lock looks back at his mother again. “She wants you to shake it,” Nimué prompts him, miming the gesture. Nodding, Lock turns to Reis again, and shakes her hand.

“Truce. I apologise again.”

“Don’t sweat it, man. Best fight I’ve had in years, actually. You’re really something else, how do you even move so fast in that armour? And that sword, whew, if it weren’t for my bow-staff I’d be a goner in an instant!” Reis grins.

“Indeed, your weapon is intriguing, surely it must also be enchanted? This sword was blessed by my mother, as was this armour. While I wear it, I can control my position and speed at will on water. I am not so fast on land, however,” he admits, but Saria can’t think of anything aside how useful that must be. Reis, too, seems fascinated.

“That. Is so. Cool.”

“Actually it gets quite hot in it during the summer.”

“No, I mean, it’s really-- never mind, just know I’m giving you a compliment.”

Lock blinks. “Oh. Thank you?”

“It’s nice to see you interact with other humans, Lock,” the ondine, Nimué, smiles at him from the water’s edge. “I worry that I’ve sheltered you too much from them.” 

Lock looks slightly distressed. “No, mother, please, I’m… content to stay with you. You need someone to protect you and your lake while you sleep, otherwise people just… litter it.” 

“Ah!” Reis suddenly remembers something, looking around. “Speaking of which, where is that little blind runt? It’s her fault this whole thing went down!”

Lock frowns. “It appears she made good her escape while we were fighting, taking a number of flowers with her. I considered you the superior threat, so I did not pursue her.” 

“Little blind runt…” Nimué ponders aloud, then she drops one arm below the water and closes her eyes. A few moments pass, where Reis shoots Saria a confused look, and then Nimué’s watery hand appears again, several hundred yards away, dragging something across the surface of the waters from where the lake runs off into the river they followed here. Edana splashes around and yells as she’s pulled through the water. Nimué raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. “Do you mean this one?”

“Lemme go you old water witch!!” Edana hollers, her words briefly muffled by being dropped into the water as per her request, until she resurfaces and flails about. “Gah! Help! Which way is land?!”

Lock, scowling, marches out onto the surface of the water and bends down, picking up Edana by the scruff of her ragged clothing. “You.”

Edana spits out a spout of water at Lock’s face. “You! You’re the guy who took my eyes!”

“I was  _ trying _ to take your  _ head _ ,” he grinds out, not reacting to the water now dripping down his face and into his armour. “You dodged.”

“Well funnily enough, most people try to do that when a guy comes at them with A SWORD!”

“Lock, did you actually blind this girl?” Nimué says disapprovingly.

“She’s a thief and a scoundrel, mother!” Lock protests, holding Edana out in front of him. Her bandages over her eyes have slipped off, and indeed, there is a large scar across the bridge of her nose, directly in line with her eyes, which she keeps closed. “It was not the first time I caught her here! Three times I chased her off, first with her ship, then after sinking it, and the third time I physically threw her out! She kept coming back!”

“I  _ need _ these flowers!” Edana argues, still hanging in Lock’s grip. “I’m a medicine woman, and Ladies of the Lake are vital to several potions! I’m not doing this for a hobby, I need them to save people’s lives in Albaines!”

“Theft is still theft!” Lock replies, glowering at her. 

“Enough,” Nimué puts her hand up. “Indeed, you should have asked permission, or left appropriate tribute, if you wanted these flowers. They are a holy bloom connected to my people and to our life force - to take them is to take our blessings and essence. A medicine woman would know such things.” And if Edana’s sulky pout is any indication, she did. “However, Lock was wrong to harm you so permanently. My son has acted in a way that damaged you more than your offense warranted. I am lately so tired that I do not wake for months, and I could not guide his decisions. I am sad to say I cannot undo what he has done. I may only make reparations. Is that acceptable to you?”

Edana, arms still folded sulkily, scowls slightly less than before. “... I suppose so, yes.”

“Very well. I offer this; I will raise and repair your ship to allow you safe passage home, and I will give you six blooms with which you may practice your craft. Your loss of sight is already punishment enough. Now, Lock,” she turns with a stern gaze to her son. “A simple apology will not right this wrong. I hope you know that.”

Lock looks at his feet. “... I understand, mother.”

Nimué’s hand reaches underwater, and raises up the sunken boat, water pouring off it out of many holes and gashes. No wonder it was wrecked, it looks like Lock took out a lot of frustration on it. But as it sits in Nimué’s hand, a number of water plants - pond weeds and reeds and giant lily pads - sprout from the edges of each hole, and stitch them up tight. It leaves the vessel slightly odd looking and patchwork, but seaworthy once again. It is, indeed, big enough for several people and even two horses, and as she sets it down, a gangplank grows out of one side of it, ready for them to embark. 

“Which is why,” Nimué says with an air of finality. “I will be sending you to escort her back to Albaines.”

“What?!” his head jerks up quickly, eyes wide, dropping Edana on the shore and walking up around the boat to his mother’s side. “No!”

Nimué sighs, like she expected this. “Lock...”

“I can’t go all the way to Albaines! You would be left completely defenseless! I need to stay here and protect you! I’m not going!”

Saria feels like she’s heard this conversation before. She looks to Reis, whose expression is somewhat difficult to read, but seems to be thinking back on the same thing Saria is. Lor and Nimué share a similar look of exasperation mixed with fondness. “Lock, I have been alive for many thousands of years before I had your protection. I will be fine.”

“But-- but in the many thousands of years before, you weren’t so tired!” Lock exclaims, and Nimué looks away. “There was more balance in the world, and just being awake didn’t drain you!”

“... the… loss of balance… is hurting you?” Saria speaks up, surprised that she’s able to do so. The more she looks at Nimué, though, the more she sees it. As the conversation goes on, the ondine’s shoulders are beginning to slope, and her eyes blink shut a little longer than normal. She looks exhausted, but she still tries to smile for Saria. 

“You’re so young, you don’t remember a time before it was like this,” she says softly. “Before there was so  _ much _ corruption and misery. There has always been unhappiness in the world, yes. Tragedy, and grief, and war. But not like this. Not on this scale. It is… draining for those of us with such ties to the gaia-maen.”

Reis raises her hand. “Um, the what?”

“The inherent magic in all things, the vibrations that echo through the universe,” Nimué explains patiently. “The leftovers of the raw energy that the gods used to create the world. It’s the same power that human magicians tap into for their tricks - it is present in and around everyone. It is also how a Mohra reads the intentions of others, for how you interact with the world reflects in your maen signature. It is all connected, but magical beings like myself are affected most of all when the harmony of it is greatly disturbed.”

Saria finds herself nodding along to this. “There’s… a lot going on in the world right now.”

“I know. I witness what the water witnesses. There are a great many things out there that should not be, but are,” she rests her arms on the side of the lake, and her head on her hands, gazing at them all sideways. “I feel a great sadness for this world that the gods left behind.”

“Mother…” Lock utters quietly, saddened by both her tiredness, and what she speaks of. “Is there… nothing we can do about this?”

“Perhaps there is,” she says, then yawns. “After all, you are all young, and with youth comes action. Maybe you will find some way to tip things back towards equilibrium, even if it is just within yourselves. Any progress is good progress.” Her eyes slide shut, and but she keeps speaking. “... please, my son, do as I ask. It is for the balance.”

Lock walks closer to the enormous form of his mother, and rests his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “... I will. I promise. Please, rest well, mother.”

“Until next I wake, my son…” she murmurs, before sliding back into the lake, and disappearing under the surface, leaving it mirror-flat and clear once more. 

A silence settles over the group. Reis gets back to her feet and flinches, sucking in air through her teeth. Saria moves to her side to support her if she falls. Lock, now standing alone on the surface of the lake, turns his back on the still water, and hesitates at the shore. Then, he takes a deep breath, and steps onto dry land. The armour he wears falls apart with a texture like glittering fish scales, vanishing into nothing before it ever hits the ground, leaving him dressed in a simple white tunic, beige trousers, and leather boots. 

“No wonder you get hot in that armour if you wear that under it,” Reis observes, trying to inject a little humour into the sorrowful atmosphere. “... so, you’re coming on the boat with us then, I guess?” 

“Us?!” Edana cries out. “What ‘us’! There is no  _ ‘us’ _ , alright, I’m getting on  _ my _ boat and I’m going home! Who said you could come with!?”

  
  
“You did,” Reis points out, unimpressed. “Back in Kalis, when you said you’d take us across if we helped you find your boat.”

“You are being very obstinate towards the people you tricked,” Lock gives Edana a chilly look, though he has to look down by quite a way to do it, and Edana can’t see it. “Really, shouldn’t you be thanking them for being so gracious about your betrayal?”

“Also,” Saria manages to speak up. “How are you going to navigate if you can’t see?”

“Ghhghk!” Edana growls between clenched teeth. Then, she points her walking stick at them… or probably where she thinks they are, but is actually about 4 feet to the left. “Fine! But to Albaines, to my home, and no further, do you understand me?”

“Perfectly!” Reis chirps with false cheer, hobbling towards the gangplank of the ship, Saria helping prop her up. “To Albaines!”

“To Albaines…” Lock mutters, not too happy about it but resigned.

“To Albaines,” Edana nods, feeling around her with her stick as everyone else climbs aboard. “Hey, wait, where’s the gangplank-- where are you guys, hold on! HEY!”

\----

Sailing down the steadily widening river and out into the ocean, Saria marvels at how vast the waters can get. Despite living in Alexra, a thriving port city, her entire life, she has never once been on a boat. The change from the smooth currents of the river to the bobbing and swaying of the sea have her stumbling around on deck, and she’s not the only one. Reis, also clearly excited by the prospect of being on a ship for the first time in probably a decade, keeps going from one bow to another, occasionally stumbling when the little ship hits a big wave. The horses are putting up with the unusual circumstances with great bravery - Kolls keeps so calm about it that Saria wonders if maybe Keion has taken him abroad before. Amusingly enough, even Lock seems a little unsteady, used to standing on the water itself, not some delicate wooden structure bobbing about on the waves. Still, he takes up position as captain, unofficially, steering the ship as best he can northward.

The only person with adequate sealegs is Edana, who keeps walking up and down the boat, feeling the changes to it with her fingers and frowning. Saria doesn’t know what’s making her so upset about it - surely a free magical repair to an otherwise totally sunken ship would be a gift? She doesn’t get to dwell on it, though, because the boat pitches sideways for a moment, and Reis, who was running towards starboard, promptly stumbles into Edana and knocks them both to the deck.

“Hey, watch it!” Edana snaps at her, pushing Reis away. Reis makes a pained hissing noise through her teeth, and Edana draws her hand back, rubbing her fingers together. They’re red, but she doesn’t know that. “... oh, this had  _ better _ just be seawater.”

“Man, I thought it was starting to close up…” Reis grumbles, as Saria wobbles over to try and help her stand up. It really is bleeding again - it’s much easier to see now that Reis’ poncho got shredded to pieces in the fight with Lock.

“Reis, don’t we have any bandages…?” Saria wonders, thinking about their supplies. 

“For a little thing like this? I’ll be fine.” Reis tries to shrug her off. 

“Little-- if it’s still bleeding it’s clearly not little!” Edana complains, getting back to her feet on her own. “My clothes are already gross enough without you getting blood on them!”

Reis puts her hands on her hips. “Well excuse _me_ for being still beat up thanks to you trying to get me killed! I still haven’t heard an ‘I’m sorry’ out of you yet, you know!” 

Edana doesn’t reply to that, trying to catch some sea-spray to wash her hand off. Saria feels a churning, upset feeling in her stomach, but before she can snap and say anything stupid, Reis speaks again. 

“Aren’t you some kind of doctor? What kinda doctor’s afraid of a little blood?”

“ _ Medicine woman _ ,” Edana says pointedly, with a scowl in their general direction. “And anyone who has worked with the human body knows to be wary of bodily fluids. Who knows what kind of diseases you carry?”

Reis bristles at the implication, but grits her teeth in a false grin nonetheless. “Oh, I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t take you for the kind of half-assed medic that gets all picky about this kinda thing. Not like you could patch this up or anything.”

Edana sticks her nose in the air. “Sure I could. I could fix it in a few seconds if I wanted to.”

“Seconds? Hah!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means I think you’re full of shit. You’re probably not even a real medicine woman, just some faker who wanted to steal some flowers.”

Now it’s Edana’s turn to bristle, whirling on them in a mess of brown and beige rags, her hood flopping off her head and showing off her long, curly red hair in the afternoon sunlight. “Why you--!”

“Oh, it’s okay, I’m not judging or anything, I’m sure there’s plenty of people who walk around telling a load of bull about their professions, trying to big themselves up to sound cool. Nobody can  _ actually _ heal a wound like this in a couple of seconds, especially not someone like you. You don’t even have the-- ow!” Reis winces as Edana smacks her on the head with her stick and storms off across the ship, down the stairs into the galley. 

“... I think you might have gone a little far…” Saria says quietly, but Reis is smirking. 

“Wait for it…”

Saria does wait. Within a few minutes, Edana comes stomping back to the top deck with a small stone pot and pestle, a bunch of herbs, and a wax-sealed bottle of what is probably freshwater. With a face like thunder, she drops the pot on the deck next to Reis, grabs the front of the archer’s shirt, and drags her down to sit on the floor next to her. Knowing Edana can’t see it, Reis turns to grin at Saria, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Edana starts ripping up the herbs and throwing them into the pot, grinding them up viciously. “Wipe that look off your face before I wipe it off for you.”

“What look?” Reis says innocently. “I don’t have a look.”

“I might not be able to  _ see _ you, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. That trick will only work once, you got it? Once!!” she points a finger in the general direction of Reis’ face, before going back to grinding. “You best hope that soaking these herbs in that ondine’s waters didn’t throw off their properties or something…”

“Can that happen…?” Saria asks, concerned.

“Not likely, since these are grown in particular soil and particular waters in particular conditions, and usually they absorb all their necessary traits from that. But there are some types of remedy that require soaking in holy water or smoking over a blessed flame, so, depending on how potent the magic in that lake was, maybe,” Edana picks up the wax sealed bottle and shakes it around.

“Is it still... safe?”

“Sure. Probably.”

“The hell do you mean probably?” Reis is now observing the medicine making with suspicion. “It’s not gonna make my whole arm drop off is it?”

Edana raises her head in her direction, doesn’t say anything, but just grins. 

“You really are some quack doctor!” Reis cries. Edana snorts, and starts laughing.

“Oh come on, I’ve been trained in this stuff since I could hold a stirring spoon. You’ll be fine. Might even heal you even faster. That ondine gave off more orderly maen than chaotic maen, so it’s probably just going to refine the effects.”

Reis raises her uninjured arm again. “Hi, yes, orderly maen? Chaotic maen? You gotta help me out here, I just shoot stuff and ride horses.”

Saria knows this one, and the words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Maen, short for gaia-maen, runs through and is inherent in everything in the world. Air, earth, plants, animals, people, all have maen. Within everything, there is a certain amount of maen that is uniform and ‘ordered’, static and unchanging, and a certain amount that is ‘chaotic’, in flux and always moving. Magic, in essence, is the manipulation of maen from order to chaos or chaos to order, in one way or another.”

“Correct,” Edana says pointing her pestle at Saria. “Just like out of the textbooks. I knew you had to have someone smart with you to make it this far north.”

Ignoring the insult, Reis is nodding in Saria’s direction, understanding. “So… when I’m using my bow… turning it from the staff form to the bow form, that’s just…?”

“Using magic to move it from an orderly state, the staff, to a chaotic one while it’s changing, and then back to a newly formed order, the bow,” Saria explains. “When you spend more time putting energy into your arrows, you’re gathering chaotic maen from your surroundings and making it orderly within your arrow, and it becomes chaotic again when it hits the target, causing an explosion.” She pauses for a moment. “Or, that’s my theory of how it works.”

“Man, I never knew science could be so cool!” 

“The study of magic is called arcanology,” Edana says primly, finally uncapping the bottle and pouring the heavily shaken liquid into her mushed up herbs a bit at a time, stirring all the while. Saria watches her take a bit of the paste in her fingers, and roll it around, before slapping it directly on Reis’ wound. Reis yelps in pain, and flinches away from the contact, but before their eyes, the open gash begins to stitch itself closed. Within a few seconds, only a thin red scar remains. 

“Order, to chaos, to order,” Saria mutters under her breath, marvelling at it as Reis pokes her new scar. “That really is something…”

Edana smirks proudly. “Right? Once you’ve properly studied the correct methods and materials, you can bend maen to your will.”

“But, I’ve heard it’s getting a lot harder to do magic these days,” Saria says. “Why wouldn’t the old methods work the same as before?”

Edana folds her arms and frowns at that. “Well… I’m no expert, but I think something’s going very, very wrong with the gaia-maen itself. Used to be that changing order to chaos and chaos to order was pretty simple, but lately - and I mean the past 20 years sort of lately - they seem… stuck.”

“Stuck?” Reis echoes.

“Indeed,” Edana feels her way across Reis’ body to find another injury. “Orderly maen is staying orderly no matter what you do to it. Chaotic maen won’t settle down into anything you need it to do. The ability to change one to the other is something that was given to the living, mortal creatures of the world as a way to compensate for our lack of immortality - or so the story goes - but we’re not getting any less mortal, and still we’re losing our potential to do magic. It’s strange. I don’t really understand what’s happening… but then, nobody does.”

They lapse into silence for a moment, each thinking about the problem. Saria wonders what in the past twenty years could have happened to cause this. It isn’t as though anyone on this boat would really know - Edana being the oldest at twenty-six wouldn’t have any real memory of anything that early in life, what kind of six year old is involved in world-changing maen related affairs?

“Hey Lock!” Reis calls up to where the knight stands vigil at the steering wheel. He looks down at her with an inquisitive expression. “How old are you?!” Ah, so Reis had the same train of thought.

“I turn twenty-three this winter,” he replies, and Reis snaps her fingers.

“Shoot. Not to mention you’ve been all holed up in that lake of yours, so you probably have no idea what’s going on outside of it…”

“I am not totally ignorant,” Lock replies. “I am aware of major events. The most recent being the fall of Alexra.”

“The  _ what _ ?!” Edana sits bolt upright, and Saria winces. “No way, who by?! When!?”

“Conquering Hindshokhani forces, about a week and a half ago, it seems. My information is, however, delivered from my aunts and cousins in the ocean. They occasionally traveled upstream to check in on me as my mother slept. Smaller ondines are not so heavily affected by the strange changes to the gaia-maen, so they have not been rendered exhausted. Yet.”

Another quiet falls for a minute before Saria speaks up. “Do you think… eventually, the world will lose magic entirely?”

“If it did, I’d be out of business,” Edana grumbles. “My medicines and remedies would be little more than herbal salad dressings without the ability to manipulate the maen properties inside them. You might as well be rubbing pesto into your wounds. Don’t do that by the way.”

“Gee, thanks for the warning doc,” Reis drones sarcastically. “Hm… My bow would just be a stick, so I’d be outta luck too. I guess the only person not really affected would be Saria. Books are still books with or without magic.”

Saria self-consciously shifts the weight of the Mohra book on her back, knowing Reis’ words aren’t strictly true given its nature as explained to her by Nimué. Still, she doesn’t really want to go into it, since she doesn’t understand it fully herself, so she just nods.

“And after all my hard work, my eyes would probably be rendered useless too,” Edana sighs pointedly, as though wanting them to ask after what she means by such a thing. Reis takes the bait.

“Your eyes are already useless though, right? Lock slashed right through them.”

“Ohoho~ allow me to show you my greatest feat yet! Behold…” Edana opens her eyes.

It’s not as though Saria is the kind of person who got to hang around a lot of expensive things before. In fact, the only precious materials she ever really handled were gold leaf on illustrated pages in old tomes. But Edana’s eyes, perfectly uniform milky white and gleaming, look exactly like the pearls on the cover of the Mohra book. They’re quite beautiful to look at, though certainly jarring when set into a person’s face. Reis reacts by leaning back, mouth open in a grimace of shock. 

“What the hell?!”

“Through a number of very specifically selected materials from the earth, and careful manipulation of the maen within my own damaged eyes, I have transformed them into these beauties!” Edana gestures around her face. “Before, I was totally blind, just darkness. But now, I don’t even need to open my eyelids to see!”

“What, uh…” Reis says, trying not to sound freaked out while still very much being so. “What kinda things can you…  _ see _ like that?”

Edana grins. “Maen signatures! A sort of aura from an object or creature, usually something you can only  _ sense _ rather than  _ see _ . And because everyone and everything’s maen is different, even subtly, I can pick out where things are!” she puffs out her chest, but then deflates a little. “Well. Sort of. It’s not a perfect solution. If an area is saturated with maen, it’s like stepping out of a dark place into bright sunshine, and I can’t tell anything apart. The ocean looks weird, and the boat looks  _ really _ weird because of different materials. I can’t tell the elevations in the earth, so I trip a lot. I can’t see people’s faces. You sort of have… coloured outlines?”

“Oooh! What colour am I?!” Reis seems much more comfortable with this idea.

“Green. Bright green. It changes sometimes with mood, but you’re pretty much always some shade of green, it’s obnoxious.”

“Ohh, I like green! What about Saria?”

Edana turns her pearly gaze towards Saria and squints like she’s staring at the sun. “A sort of… soft gold. A yellow that wants to be brown but it’s too bright.  _ Really _ too bright.”

“And Lock?”

“Unsurprisingly, deep blue, but he’s also pretty bright, I’m guessing because he’s saturated in the maen signature of the ondine? When she grabbed me it was terrifying. I couldn’t see at all, it was just so blue everywhere…”

It’s so fascinating that Saria wishes she had somewhere to write it all down. She’s not sure she’s ever heard of anyone pulling off this kind of thing before - in theory, yes, but not in practice. Perhaps nobody has ever had the means and the situation to do it, but it’s still something that deserves to be preserved. However, to tell Edana this would probably be stating the obvious, as Edana seems to be almost as well-read as Saria is, not to mention it would inflate her ego even further. So Saria just sits quietly as Reis quizzes Edana on the maen signature colours of random objects (Kolls is turquoise, Nairos is bright orange) until the sun sets.

\----

“Land ho~!” Reis calls, leaning over the prow of the ship with a bright grin. The white chalky cliffs of the first islands of Albaines loom ahead of them in the morning sunlight, the breeze off the ocean chilly and fresh. Each jutting rock is capped with green, and a number of seabirds watch their boat sail past from the cliffsides. Seagulls screech above their heads, flying alongside the boat. Lock, who could not be persuaded to sleep in shifts by Reis, stands just as ready and awake at the helm as before Saria went to sleep. 

“They are quite beautiful,” he observes of the looming shoreline’s cliffs. “And I suppose the name of the nation is derived from them, quite deservingly.  _ Albai,  _ white.”

“Ahh, that reminds me, I really gotta brush up on my Albainese,” Reis sighs, sitting on the deck and leaning back against the siding. “My accent’s really terrible.”

“Prashians speaking Albainese is always hilarious,” Edana smirks. “They can’t say their R noises properly. Try saying <Relocate>.”

“H… hhhrrr…” Reis tries, but settles for throwing a rude gesture Edana’s way that she can’t see anyway, so she adds, “Screw you, I’m not even Prashian!”

“<Relocate,>” Lock says, quite fluently. “Do not make fools of people who are doing their best to communicate with you. It’s unbecoming.”

Edana scowls at him. “And where did  _ you  _ learn Albainese?”

“My cousins who live around these islands. This is not their natural tongue, but I cannot speak the languages of ondines. It requires a lot of bubble noises.”

For some reason, Edana starts laughing at that, though Saria would find it quite interesting to hear how ondines communicate with each other. She doesn’t comment and instead practices the hard Albainese R and the important glottal stops under her breath. At one point, she thinks she sees some strange dark cloud mar the perfectly blue sky on the horizon, but in the blink of an eye, it is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally entering Albaines! Unsurprisingly, most of these fictional places are based on fantasy versions of real countries. Alexra, and by association the country of Prash, is Greco-Turkish inspired. The Library of Alexra is a reference to the Library of Alexandra, as well. Hindshokhan is intended to be reminiscent of the Mongol Hordes, but with the refinement of the Indian Empires. Petea is Scandinavia-inspired, and Albaines is quasi-Arthuian Britain.


	7. Chapter 7

The correct port of call for people coming into Albaines is the city of Dovra, and anyone trying to make land elsewhere is essentially crossing borders without permission. However, considering three of their party don’t have citizenship anywhere at all - Lock certainly doesn’t have documentation after living with the ondines for so long, and Reis and Saria’s situation is well understood - there really is no other option for them but to sneak in. Staring at the map, Saria squints to try and see the little inlets and potentially hidden coasts where they could hide their patchwork ship. 

“We could sail up the Avon River,” Edana suggests, as their boat glides along the waves far out enough from the shore that they won’t be noticed. In the distance, the hills of Albion slope down towards the sea, revealing a bustling port town on the edges of the land, and the opening of a river, full of boats coming and going. “That would take us right to Avalon, and right past my house, besides. That’s the opening right there.”

“Too risky, it’s a big trade route, and look, see all those ships? I bet at least one or two are coast guards. Look, the ones bobbing still in the water, not going anywhere. They’re sentries,” Reis shakes her head, looking at the map and frowning. “And since our boat is weird looking it’s bound to attract attention. No way.”

“I could call in a few favours,” suggests Lock. “With my cousins in the waters. Stir up a storm briefly and head in under it’s cover.”

Reis pulls a face. “Awesome as that sounds, I don’t think this ship could take much battering, not even from a little storm. We’re lucky to have got such good weather sailing over here.”

“It is not luck,” Lock gestures over the side of the boat. Saria turns her head to squint at the waves, and riding on the foam she can see tiny figures of people, little women and girls following their boat and giggling amongst themselves. Ondines, even out here…

“Man, you are one convenient guy to have around, huh Lock?” Reis grins at him, before returning to the problem at hand, looking at the map. “Hm… what’s this tiny wiggly thing here?”

“Tiny wiggly thing?” Edana asks. “Is it above the Avon?” 

“Yeah. It’s barely on the map at all.”

Edana shakes her head. “That’s the river Lilian. You can’t sail up it.”

“If the waters are rough, we could have them calmed,” Lock pitches in again. “It does seem my cousins are finding my excursion very novel, and want to take part.”

“Well good for them, but the water’s not so much the problem as the people along it. It’s Dufey territory,” Edana frowns.

“Dufey?” Saria asks, feeling like the name is familiar somehow. Perhaps she read it in a book…?

“One of the noble houses of Albaines. Lady Morgana Dufey is  _ not _ kind to unidentified vessels sailing up her waters. To get caught by them would be way worse than getting caught by the coast guard. The coast guard will just kick us back to Prash. Lady Dufey will sink our ship and watch us drown.”

Ah, that’s where Saria heard the name before - in the long lists of great clans of Albaines, the Dufeys were one of the oldest and most prolific. Well known for producing fearsome warriors and knights, she’s not surprised they’re strict about the law kept in their lands. They would be heavily invested in making sure nobody snuck in through the back door on their watch. However… 

“Wasn’t there a rumour that the king was dead…?” Saria wonders aloud.

“Wait… what?” Edana looks over at her, or in her direction, surprised.

Reis nods along. “Yeah, we heard in Kalis that he’s dead. That’s why nobody’s allowed in or out, until the new king is coronated.”

A solemn silence comes over Edana, one quite uncharacteristic of her. She stands there in front of them all, as though waiting for someone to say it’s some kind of joke, before lowering her sightless gaze. “... I see. If it’s true, then… that’s a very unfortunate thing. Not just because of the struggle for power that is definitely coming, but… he was a good king. Ulther. This would have been the twenty fifth year of his reign, and I can’t think of anyone who had a bad thing to say about him. It’s the end of an era.”

The atmosphere becomes heavy with an almost mournful feeling. Reis looks like she regrets speaking so lightly of the subject. “I didn’t know he was that beloved. Sorry, Edana…” she trails off. “But… a power struggle? Won’t it pass to someone in his family?”

“The king has no heirs,” Edana frowns at the deck. “The crown would have to pass to a regent, or they’ll have to figure it out amongst the potential noble candidates…” Suddenly, her head snaps up, and she gasps. “All the noble houses will be in the capital for such a thing! They’ll all be too busy arguing about the succession, the Dufeys will probably be there too, so the Lilian will be basically unguarded! We’ll just have to get past some random mooks, not a bunch of well trained knights!”

“Alright, there’s some  _ good _ news!” Reis grins triumphantly, glad for the topic change. “Then it’s decided! We blast past some dumbasses and sail up the Lilian until… uh.”

“It stops to the north of Avalon, but doesn’t run through it like the Avon does,” Edana explains. “Not that we need to go to the end of it, just most of the way inland, then find a cart and travel a little ways south to my home.”

“Come to think of it, where is your home?” Reis asks.

“Only a few dozen miles from Avalon itself. My family was awarded land there after my great great grandmother saved the life of King Ormond with her medicine.”

“Convenient! And  _ definitely  _ not a lie this time, right?” Reis leans in close to Edana’s face with a stiff grin that holds no mirth. Edana leans back.

“I’m not making it up this time! Geez, why can’t you trust me.”

Reis taps her chin mock-thoughtfully. “Hm, lemme see, you tried to, let me just think of how to phrase this, kill us?”

“Can’t you just let that go already? It was one time!”

“Let it go? Why I ought ta--”

“Ah, is that not the inlet?” Lock cuts in, pointing ahead of them. A couple of miles along the shore, there is a much smaller inlet than the opening of the Avon. There’s a small settlement there as well, but not nearly as many boats, and Saria can’t see any that look like guards. This is it, their way in!

Reis is distracted from her anger and hops up to where the helm is, grasping it determinedly. “Alright! Assuming Edana’s not trying to kill us all again, let’s go!”

\----

There are indeed no real defences at the mouth of the Lilian. The only other ships on the water are some local fishing boats, whose sailors give their oddly patchwork ship a double-take but do nothing more. The sea breeze is chilly but carries them safely inland, up the river until the sea disappears behind them. Farms and small villages pass them by as the river slowly narrows, and by the end of the day, they’re in the middle of the countryside. 

The coming nightfall forces them to moor up on a riverbank, and Saria helps lead the horses off to allow them to eat the lush green grass nearby. Kolls certainly seems pleased with the new pastures, and Saria gives him an appreciative pat on the neck for enduring so much so far. Nairos, on the other hand, just seems happy to be back on solid ground again, going for a brief canter around the area before coming back when Reis whistles for her. 

Once they’ve set up a small campfire, Saria sets about boiling some water from the river so it will be safe for them to drink, sifting out the silt and other debris with one of Edana’s tools. Next comes the matter of dinner. While a number of Edana’s plants on her ship are edible, they’re not going to fill four people’s stomachs easily. Reis can’t hunt easily in the dark when she can’t see.

“Then, why not fish?” Lock suggests. “They’re mostly what I eat anyway.”

Reis rubs the back of her neck. “Not that I mind fish or anything, but we don’t have a pole, and I don’t think a sword is going to cut it in this situation.”

“My sword can cut through almost anything. The fish would be no match for me.”

“That’s not what I--”

Saria suddenly feels like a rock has dropped into her stomach, and her fingers go numb and tingly. She drops the pot she was holding, and while it doesn’t break, it does attract everyone’s attention. She thinks they might be saying something, but she can’t hear them around the sudden feeling like someone is here with them. Watching them. She turns around, heart hammering in her chest, looking for the source, but she doesn’t see anything but darkness and trees and the river. When something catches her wrist, she almost shrieks, until she realises it’s just Reis.

“Saria, breathe, okay?” 

She can’t, or she can but it’s too fast, everything is too fast - what is this horrible skin-crawling feeling? It’s ten times worse than when they went through the curse barrier the unicorn made. 

“Saria, focus,” Reis takes her other hand and makes Saria look at her. “Hey. I’m here. It’s okay. Whatever this is, you gotta breathe first. In…”

Reis takes a deep, slow breath in, and waits for Saria to shakily attempt to copy her.

“Out…”

Still trembling, Saria lets out the breath she was holding, trying to do it slowly. They stand there repeating it a few times. The awful feeling doesn’t go away entirely, but at least her heart doesn’t feel like it’s immediately going to give out. 

Reis is watching her, face lit softly by the campfire flames. “A little better now?”

Saria nods.

“Do you wanna talk?”

“... th… there’s something here.”

In an instant, Lock is on his feet, going to the riverside and holding out his hand. A spout of water shoots out of the river and into his hand, materialising as his sword. He doesn’t put on his armour quite yet though. “Where,” he asks, armed and ready. The forest is quiet, only the distant hoot of an owl breaking up the monotonous background noise of the gurgling river. Reis releases one of Saria’s hands to pick up her bow-staff. Edana is looking around, milky white eyes wide. Then, she does a double-take towards the east.

“That way!” she hisses. “I… what even is…”

“What do you see, Edana?” Reis whispers back. 

“I… have no idea… I haven’t seen anything like this before, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s red, that’s all I’ve got. A horrible, horrible red.”

The trees rustle, and something in the undergrowth snaps underfoot. The group stand tense and ready for something to jump out of the trees at them. The bushes part, and…

A young boy of about 15 steps out of them into the light of the campfire. He has short, sandy-blonde hair, and wears a simple brown woolen tunic and trousers, the hems of which he has tucked into thick leather boots. Resting on his shoulder is a fishing pole, and in his other hand he carries a large bucket of fish. He blinks at the gathered group, confused. 

“... Alo?” he greets in Albainese. Of course he does, he’s probably a local… but if all the locals make Saria’s skin crawl like this, she’d much rather go back and face the Hindshokhani army.

Reis lowers her bow-staff slightly. “What the hell, it’s just a kid.”

“A… kid,” Edana says, squinting at the figure before them. She rubs her eyes and looks again. “... right. Okay.”

“<You guys know you’re not allowed to camp on Dufey land, right?>” the boy says, gesturing with his bucket of fish at the campfire. 

Lock slowly lowers his sword. “<... We have little other choice, we cannot make a fire on the boat.>”

“<Not meant to be mooring boats here neither,>” he adds, then a sly grin comes across his face. “<Oh, I see, you snuck in right? While all the big cats are away, the little mice will play, huh?>”

Edana quickly stands up. “<You don’t understand! Our boat got sunk and our documents were lost, so there was no way for us to get back into Albaines! We had to sneak in!>”

That’s a lie, or at least half a lie, but their battered old ship does make it pretty convincing. The boy leans his head around them all to look at it, and gives a low whistle. “<Damn, you really did a number on it. Impressive patch job, it probably would have been easier to just buy another boat.>”

“<It has sentimental value, I couldn’t possibly,>” Edana continues to lie smoothly. Saria is, for once, extremely grateful of their companion’s ability to twist her words. “<In any case, please don’t tell on us to the Dufeys, we’re carrying important medicine inland to the capital, where it’s needed!>”

“<That so? Are you a medicine woman or something?>” the boy looks her up and down, clearly doubting it due to Edana’s raggedy appearance.

“<Despite my current dress sense, yes,>” she sweeps into a surprisingly graceful curtsey. “<Edana Brillia at your service. These are my assistants, Lock, Reis, and Saria.>”

“<Oh! For real, you’re actually one of Vivianne Brillia’s kids?>” the boy’s face lights up and he grins. “<That’s awesome, she saved my life when I was a little kid and got super sick, give her my thanks.>”

“<I’ll be sure to do that, Mr…?>”

“<Oh, Red. Call me Red. She’ll know who I am just from that.>”

Edana’s hands tighten slightly where they still hold her raggedy dress. “<... of course.>”

“<But, I owe a debt to your mother, not to you, so… I’m going to need a little more than just that to be convinced not to tell anyone you’re here,>” he smirks, dropping his bucket of fish on the ground and setting his fishing pole aside. “<Whatcha got?>”

Red’s attitude is clearly getting to both Lock and Reis, the latter of whom looks poised to say something until Saria squeezes her hand tight. Don’t. For the love of every sleeping god, don’t. 

“<Well, for a paying customer, I have all manner of cures for what ails you!>” Edana beams, switching into full on saleswoman mode. “<And I’ll even give you a discount on anything you need! Anti-acne, infatuation draughts, or perhaps a particularly special new concoction of mine that completely eliminates all body odour, very attractive for a young man your age--!>”

“<Hmm… How about, I tell you what I want, and you make it for me. For free.>”

“<WHAT?!>” Edana shrieks. “<For free?! Who the hell do you think you are, kid?!>”

Red puts his hands on his hips, raising an eyebrow with a cocky grin. “<The person who’s gonna tell on you if you don’t do what I say.>” 

“Edana,” Lock mutters.

“<Hah! As though we can’t get rid of you just like that! You’re all alone out here kiddo!>” she points dramatically in the boy’s direction, or a couple of feet to the left of it. “Lock, take him out!”

Lock doesn’t move. “I am not doing that.”

“Why not!?”

“He is quite right. We are trespassing. It is only fair we make amends.”

“Rrrgh, you and your trespassing nonsense--! Reis!”

Reis raises her hands. “I’m not shooting a kid. That’s messed up.”

Edana looks like she’s ready to pull her hair out from frustration. Red is chuckling at them all, shaking his head. “You guys are funny. It’d be a shame for me to have to tell all those big scary knights who, actually, still haven’t  _ all _ left Castle Dufeymont yet and have them chop you all into little bitty pieces of fish food.”

With a gasp, Reis points a finger at the boy. “You speak Prashian!”

“Oh yeah, so I do,” he tilts his head lackadaisically, before marching around the fire and right up to Edana, who tries to back up but hits a tree. Lock tenses, but doesn’t move. Red leans down to Edana’s height, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Saria feels claustrophobic just looking at them. “So. I’ll tell you what I want. You’ll make it for me. And then I’ll let you go. Sound good?”

Edana swallows. “... yes sir. Customer’s always right.”

Then, Red leans in by Edana’s ear, and whispers something so lowly that the babble of the river and the crackle of the fire drown it out. Saria can only guess at what makes Edana’s eyes fly open with surprise, and her mouth gape in shock. Red straightens up and smiles down at her. 

“Can you do that?”

“I… I can, but…”

“Then, you will. You’re heading to Avalon, right? I’ll be there too, eventually, and when I am, I’ll drop by and pick up my order. Of course, if you haven’t made it, things could get real unfortunate for you…” 

“What the hell is with this menacing bullshit…” Reis mutters under her breath. Red catches it and turns to smile at her, causing Saria to instinctively duck behind Reis as a shield. 

“Just making sure a bunch of foreigners don’t get too comfy here. You’re in Albaines now. Better get used to double-talk and swindlers and bribery, especially now King Ulther is dead. You know they’re saying it was poison that did him in? And that the queen won’t hold court properly until Orlon is around again? It’s corruption and deceit, but that’s how we do things here. And if you don’t like it,” he shrugs with a wry smile. “... better get swimming back to Prash, huh?”

This is the last straw for Reis. “Why you little--”

“No!” Saria squeaks, tightening her hold on Reis’ arm again. “Don’t!”

Red chuckles, waving a hand like he can dispel the tension in the air. “Okay, okay, I’m done pissing you all off. I’m just messing with you, okay? Relax,” he puts his hands on his hips again. “Here, since you’ve all been good sports, I’ll give you some fish,” he reaches down to his bucket and tosses out four large perch, which hit the floor with a dull splat. “And, if you travel a little ways upstream tomorrow, there’s an old cart nobody’s using parked by the road. It’s got some flowers on it but you can just toss those out.”

“ <You are most generous, sir,>” Lock says with a bow. Red laughs again.

“<Check this guy out! Talking in chivalric mode! What are you, some kind of knight?>”

“<... of sorts, sir.>”

“<Of what house?>”

“<Nimué.>”

“<Never heard of it!>” Red picks up his bucket and fishing rod. “Well, I better get going before someone yells about me running off again. See you guys in Avalon.”

And with that, the boy stalks off into the night. As he leaves, the awful stomach-dropping feeling in Saria fades away to nothing, and when it’s finally gone, she drops to her knees and gasps for breath, unaware of how much pressure was in the air until it left. Edana slides down the tree she was leaning against, sitting at its base. Reis looks frustrated.

“How often do you think he comes up to people, acts all menacing, and then tries to buddy-buddy up at the end before heading off? Damn it!” she kicks the dirt. “That kind of superior attitude combined with whatever the hell that last bit was just pisses me off!”

“Never mind his attitude, what the hell  _ was _ that?” Edana says, trembling hands holding her face, which is pale in the light of the fire. “You said that looked like a boy, right? J-just a normal boy?”

Reis folds her arms and nods. “Yeah, well, Albaines normal. Pale, blonde hair, superior-ass smirk. That sort of thing.”

Edana is shaking her head from the beginning of the description to the end. “That… is not what I saw. Not what these eyes saw. And I don’t think I’m the only one noticing something really, really wrong about that kid, right Saria?”

Even after spending a while getting her breath back, Saria can’t possibly find it within herself to speak. How does she even describe that feeling in the first place? So instead she just nods, and hopes that the sheen of sweat on her pinched brow is enough to show them how she feels. 

Reis looks down at her, then across at Edana, and then at Lock. “What about you, big guy, you get any weird feelings off him?”

Lock looks down at his sword, glimmering in the firelight. “Though I may be blessed by the ondines, I have little magical sense myself. However…” he looks back up at Reis. “I could tell he was someone we were not prepared to fight. It was as though he could have killed us all with only that fishing rod.”

“Yikes,” Reis rubs the back of her neck. “And now we’re at his beck and call. Or, Edana is. What did he ask you to make him?”

Edana is still shaking her head, face in her hands. For the first time, Saria finds herself relating to the usually headstrong and self-assured medicine woman. Whatever she saw has stunned her into silence, now she has time to process it. Reis waits for a response for a while, before sitting down at the campfire with a sigh. 

“Fine, we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Lock, help me gut these fish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A challenger approaches! What's up with this guy?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: CONTAINS FAMILIAL ABUSE
> 
> If this content triggers you, please skip the chapter and go down to the chapter notes at the bottom for a summary.

They do not talk about it later. Nor do they talk about it before they go to sleep. Nor when they wake up, tension still present in the air as Lock douses the last embers of the campfire and returns the scene to as it was when they arrived. Edana is silent, unusually so, her usually chatty nature muffled by this unsettled mood that has fallen over her and, thus, everyone else present. Saria can sense that Reis is beginning to get annoyed by the lack of explanation, or talking in general, so of all things, she herself decides to speak up.

“Th-this place is… even greener than I thought it would be,” she manages, clumsily trying to steer the topic of conversation to neutral ground. “There’s more than just trees - moss, undergrowth, grass… even the water is full of pondweed and other watery plants…”

“Some of them are edible,” Lock chimes in, saving her from trailing off into totally awkward silence. “And quite tasty. I recommend them with salmon and a little salt.”

“You like cooking, big guy?” Reis asks, trying to convince Nairos to get back on the boat. The mare does not seem keen on another voyage, or on leaving behind the lush greenery that she’s been snacking on greedily. “Ugh, come  _ on _ Nairos…”

Kolls got back on the ship with no fuss at all, as ever, and is now watching from the deck and Reis struggles with her steed. Edana scuttles past her silently, up the gangplank and onto the ship, disappearing below deck before anyone can comment. Lock walks up at a more sedate pace. “I mostly cook for myself, so I try to find ways to make it interesting. Though there is a lot of variety in fish, the main component of my diet, one can get bored eventually.”

“You got  _ that _ tall just from eating fish?” Reis pauses in tugging at Nairos’ reins. 

“And other things. I was cared for well by my cousins and aunts, who often brought me things from elsewhere along the waters - sometimes meat, sometimes bread, sometimes spices. Occasionally, money for me to buy things myself,” he pauses. “Most of these items were salvaged from shipwrecks.”

“Ew, soggy bread,” Reis makes a gagging motion. Saria, shifting the Mohra book’s weight on her back, heads up the gangplank herself, leaving Reis and Nairos the last to get on. “Come ooooon Nairos, it’s only a little more!”

The mare snorts and whinnies and digs her hooves into the ground. Lock has already taken up an expectant spot at the helm, and Saria begins to feel sorry for Nairos. How does one even explain these unpleasant things to a horse? Of course she doesn’t like being on the boat… but still, she has to get on. Saria stands at the top of the gangplank and, for lack of any other ideas, tries whistling a little to get Nairos’ attention. The horse’s ears prick up. She seems interested.

“Oh, keep doing that, Saria!” Reis half-whispers, managing to unstick Nairos from her present position and bring her a little closer to the boat.

Saria whistles again, just short tuneless sounds, taking a few steps back. Slowly but surely, they coax Nairos onto the boat together. Once the horse is entirely on the ship, Saria is at last able to stop whistling, smiling at her success. Nairos seems to abruptly realise she’s been tricked, looking around her and then giving an irritated huff before being corralled into standing by Kolls. 

“If we’re all on board, shall we depart?” calls Lock from the helm. Reis rushes to pull the gangplank in.

“Aye aye, captain!” she calls at top volume, then pauses as though waiting for something. “... hm. I guess Edana really  _ is _ rattled by that kid. You’d think she’d pitch a fit about me calling anyone else captain of her ship.”

Saria’s worry over the matter returns to her, and she frowns. “Yeah…” 

As the boat pulls away from the shore, an awkward silence settles over those above decks. Saria wonders if Edana is alright down there by herself when she’s upset - but it’s no good sending in Reis to help since the two are so often at loggerheads, and Lock is busy being the only one competent enough to steer the ship. Which leaves only… her. 

Saria’s not sure she’s any good at comforting people. Listening to them, maybe, as long as they’re not the sort of person who, like Midias, is almost painful to endure a long monologue with. But when it comes to saying the right thing to make people feel better… she doesn’t have much experience in the matter. None of the other Librarians ever really looked to her for comfort, all being grown adults even before she arrived there. The prospect of doing such a thing for Edana and her explosive temper is more than a little daunting…

… But who else is going to do it but her?

Steeling herself, Saria goes below decks for the first time. The patches in the ship are almost more obvious down here than they would be from the outside, the magical tangle of plantlife over where the holes once were allowing a little light to seep through, like through treetops on a sunny afternoon, though no water leaks in. There are dozens upon dozens of sealed boxes and crates and chests, which Saria supposes kept most of Edana’s haul fairly safe even on the bottom of Nimué’s lake. Sat on one of the boxes towards the rear of the ship is Edana, all hunched over and frowning at the floor. Saria hesitates to approach.

“I’m not going to bite you,” Edana mutters, just about audible over the creak of the wooden walls. “What do you want?”

“... I was… um, just checking to see if you’re okay…” Saria manages, walking a little closer. 

“Why would I not be okay. I’ve only been blinded, had my mother’s boat sunk, been dragged around by a bunch of maniacs, been threatened by some…  _ thing _ that I swear can’t be a human, and now I have to make one of the worst, most tricky potions ever for him. I’m totally fine, no problem,” her voice drips with sarcasm, and for a moment it kills Saria’s own ability to reply. Edana seems to notice this, and sighs. “I’m not… mad at you. You seem like the kind of person who takes other people’s problems too seriously. I’m just frustrated, that’s all.”

“I, um… think that’s reasonable,” Saria utters quietly, coming a little closer. “... what potion did you get asked to make? Um,  _ told _ to make.”

Edana puts her face in her hands and sighs again, breath whistling between her palms. She takes so long to reply that Saria thinks she’s going to avoid the question like she has been doing all morning, but then she speaks up. 

“A Draught of True Death.”

Even the name of it sounds ominous. “A… draught?”

“Of True Death. Yeah,” Edana raises her head. “Usually, when a person dies, their maen dissipates out into the general surroundings, returning to nature. The soul is what holds maen in a body, and vice versa, and when the soul moves on to either ascend or be reborn, the maen just drifts away like dust in wind, back into the world where it belongs. But, a Draught of True Death… would completely remove both that soul and the attached maen from the cycle entirely. No reincarnations. No return of maen to the environment. Just… erased.”

It smacks of something terribly unnatural to Saria, enough for a shiver to go down her spine. “That sounds horrible…”

“It is. Even the materials to make it are horrible. Some materials I don’t even have with me, though there are probably some at my house. For example,” she reaches into the box next to her, and pulls out on of those purple flowers from Nimué’s garden. The Ladies of the Lake. “I have to take this beautiful, rare, exotic flower… and crush it. Then I have to burn it, along with the fat of a pig slaughtered before its first year. The tongue of a drowned rat must be added once the concoction is smoking. Three litres of blood from any animal who died while still bleeding - I go to a butchers for that - makes the majority of the draught, but I have to simmer that down until it’s practically sludge. And so on. I can’t go into the full details of the recipe, it’s a trade secret, but… you get the idea.”

Saria does. It sounds nothing like the fresh herbs and pure water Edana used to cure Reis’ wounds, or the miraculous way she transformed her eyes into precious pearls so she could at least use them to see maen. This whole recipe is just full of horrible things…

“... but even so, you’re going to make it?” Saria asks quietly.

“I have to. Not only because I don’t want to die and I’m pretty sure he’ll kill me if I don’t, but… it’s an honour code thing. For us Medicine Women,” she shakes her head. “If someone requests our help, and it’s in our power to do it, then we  _ have _ to help them. That’s the purpose of a Medicine Woman. We help everyone, rich or poor, king or commoner, and never turn anyone away as long as something can be done for them.”

“Even someone that scares you?”

“Even if he had killed you all in front of me right then. I took an oath, Saria. I’m in this Medicine Woman business for the long haul.”

Something about the way Edana says that last part makes Saria wonder about Edana’s real feelings on the matter, since she clearly isn’t happy to be at this ‘Red’ person’s beck and call, but she doesn’t press the topic or ask again. It’s only another minute or so before the hull of the boat nudges up against the riverbank, and Reis calls down from the top deck to say they’ve found that wagon the weird kid was talking about. Edana hops to her feet off the box she was sitting on, and walks ahead to the stairs, Saria following behind.

\----

By the time they’ve removed the old flowers from the cart (Edana says they were likely some kind of memorial, but they’re all wilted now, so it’s unlikely anyone’s tending it), and hitched up the horses (Kolls looks much happier pulling a cart again, and Nairos is just taking what she can get as long as it’s on dry land at this point), the sun is high in the sky. Despite this, Saria barely feels its heat, and wraps her wool cloak around herself tighter. How can it be midday and still so cold? Reis doesn’t seem bothered by the temperature even though her poncho is long gone and she’s riding around in a cut-off sleeve tunic and trousers and not much else. Perhaps it’s her Petean blood at work - the former nation was much colder than this, according to what Saria has read.

They don’t particularly need their map for finding their way along the road, as every fork and intersection comes with a waypost - a tall wooden stick with directions to each major city, and of course Avalon is shown on every single one. The quality of the wayposts seems to become slightly better the closer they get to the capital, becoming less worm-eaten and worn by the rain. On the speaking of which, Saria is surprised to find that though Albaines is chillier than she thought, it isn’t  _ always _ raining, like the texts from the region often complained. There are a great deal more clouds, but when the sun breaks through them, the greenery of the land is illuminated in dazzling emeralds. 

Wandering along the hilly roads through the fields, all with neck-tall golden wheat and barley, Saria wonders, briefly, if they might have reached another cliffside somehow in the middle of the countryside. Far ahead of them, there is a wide white structure, and Saria has to move her glasses a little to the side to see farther ahead without them. 

“Hey, is that it?” Reis speaks up, pointing ahead of them from her position at the front of the cart. 

“Is it tall and white and pretty much the only big structure for miles around?” Edana asks. “If so, then yes, that’s the great walled city of Avalon.”

“It must be  _ really _ dang big if we can see it this far away, we’re on top of a hill and that over there has to be at least twenty, maybe thirty miles off!” Reis exclaims, standing up in her seat to see better.

“Avalon itself sits on top of a hill. But yes, the wall that circles it is over one hundred feet tall, and I don’t know how long the full circumference is. Big, that’s all,” Edana folds her arms. “But if we’re already within sight of it, and we’re coming in from the east side, then at the next waypost, you’re going to want to head south, towards Milfast.”

Reis sits back down with a huff. “Man. Do we  _ have _ to go to your house first? I really want to go check out how they make those walls so shiny.”

Lock inclines his head as he looks into the distance. “It is quite magnificent. However, mother instructed me to escort Miss Edana home. So, to her home we shall go.”

“ _ Miss _ Edana?” Reis turns to Lock with a grin. “You’re sure being respectful!”

Lock gives her a look out of the corner of his eye. “I am not wholly comfortable with informality. Do not read into this.”

“Oh, I’m readin’ alright! Weren’t you two talking by the fire last night when you thought me and Saria were asleep?”

“Is it unusual to speak to a person when they are troubled?”

“Weren’t you trying to kill her before?”

“Circumstances change. I was also trying to kill  _ you _ before, and--”

Edana lets out an irritated noise. “Quit trying to write the next big romance play in your head and keep your actually working eyes peeled for the waypost!”

Saria points ahead. “Is it that one?”

“What one! I can’t see!” Edana gestures. Saria leans forward and moves her glasses back into place as they get closer. 

“Ah… Milfast, fourteen miles south…” she reads, then nearly falls off her perch on the wagon when Reis corrects the steering of the reins a little too hard. They start heading down the path. “I-is your house in Milfast?”

Edana shakes her head. “Nah, you’ll see a large wooden post stuck into the ground on the side of the road, with a woman carved into it. Turn down the road next to that sign, and just keep going until you hit the house.”

Lock raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I do not think your family will welcome us if we crash this cart into their abode. Unless this is an unknown Albainese custom?”

Saria is about to open her mouth and correct him when Edana cuts in with a grin. “Oh yeah, that’s how we let people know we’re here! Slam ourselves right into the front door!”

Reis starts sniggering. But Lock is nodding along, and Saria realises with some amusement and a little concern that he is actually taking Edana at her word. Oh dear… 

The sign for Edana’s house shows up on the road a lot sooner than Saria thought it would. She really is located quite close to Avalon itself. The carved woman on the tall, thick post, is displayed as though rising out of a cauldron, or perhaps she’s supposed to be standing behind it, the carving is quite stylised and Saria can’t really tell. The figure wears a long dress and a hood, with an apron tied to the front of her dress. When Saria squints at it, she thinks perhaps the image resembles Edana quite a lot, though Edana’s current attire looks like it got mauled by a particularly angry cat. The sign is easy to spot, so Reis doesn’t need prompting to turn the cart down the road.

Ahead of them, a small grove of trees lines the gravel road, eventually parting to reveal a squat little cottage with a water wheel slowly being turned by the current of a small stream running alongside it. There’s smoke curling out of the chimney, and an enormous, overgrown garden behind the house. She can even see a delicate looking shed with glass for every wall, and even the roof, with a number of exotic plants growing inside that would usually perish in such cold conditions. A little further beyond the house is a small field with a horse, a goat, and several chickens. 

All in all, it’s a quaint little property, but when Saria turns to look at Edana, she finds the redhead’s expression has become grim, with jaw set and brow furrowed. Not the look of a person happy to be home. Before Saria can work up the courage to ask what’s wrong, however, Lock has jumped off the cart and made a running start for the front door. The grin immediately bursts back onto Edana’s face.

“Oh gods tell me he’s doing it--” she utters, before her question is answered by the loud THUD of Lock impacting with the surprisingly sturdy front door of the house. Reis bursts into laughter, pulling the cart to a stop in front of the front door before doubling over and slapping her knee. Edana, too, is laughing along, though it’s the sort of laughter Saria thinks comes out of you when you sorely need to find  _ some _ sort of tension release or you might start to cry or scream. It carries on a little too long, and Lock turns around and scowls at them all, figuring out from the reaction that he’s been tricked. 

“<What in the name of all the gods>--” comes a voice that Saria first thinks is Edana’s, but can’t possibly be, because Edana is still laughing. The front door is now open, exposing how it is, indeed, 4 inch thick solid oak and therefore not something even Lock could break without effort. Standing within the doorway is unmistakably Edana’s mother, Vivianne Brillia. Even at a glance, the two are uncannily similar - it’s as though someone merely took Edana, and aged her 20 more years. Saria takes a moment to look at the woman’s wide blue eyes and wonder if Edana’s were once the same too, before the woman speaks again to finish her sentence. “--<is going on out here?!>”

Lock gets up and brushes the gravel and dirt off himself. “<I do beg your pardon, madame, I appear to have been tricked into doing something foolish. I merely intended to announce our arrival.>”

Edana’s mother looks Lock up and down a few times, before continuing on in a slightly more friendly tone. “<Well, indeed you did do that, young man. What brings you to the Medicine Woman today?>”

“<... a great many things, but primarily, an apology.>” 

Vivianne blinks, and seems about to question what he means, before she jumps in surprise as Lock goes down on one knee, bowing his head in shame. “<I have done a terrible thing in anger, madame, and permanently injured a member of your household. I went much too far, and in recompense I have escorted her home across the ocean to your door.>”

A silence falls. Vivianne looks up, over Lock’s head, at where Reis is helping Edana out of the cart to stand in front of it. Edana raises her head to look at her mother, covered in rags and dirt still, her eyes wide and sightless and her expression conflicted. Saria sees a great deal of emotions fight for dominance on Vivianne’s face - shock, anger, confusion, grief - before she looks down at Lock. “<... please, stand up young man. Come inside and tell me the whole story. All of you.>”

\----

Saria is not much good at explaining the full details of what happened, only chipping in when she’s sure her voice won’t crack or can actually speak above the volume of a whisper. Instead, she looks around the inside of the cottage, which gives off a strange aura she can’t place. The main living area is stuffed wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor, with implements for potion making and casting enchantments. Bound sprigs of dried herbs hang in bunches from the ceiling, lavender and basil and thyme next to nightshade and wormwood and wolfsbane. Barrels full of water labeled as being from different streams and mountains are lined up against one wall like beer in a distillery. There’s a whole cabinet that seems to contain different kinds of animal bones, feathers, skin, and fur - even whole body parts, like rabbit’s foot or lamb’s tail. The smell of something cooking in the next room floats through the air, though whatever it is is unidentifiable to Saria, so it could either be a potion or just some soup. The little glass windows let in only a small amount of light, and most of the illumination comes from an oil lamp burning on the centre of the table they’ve all been sat at. A gracious host, Vivianne has provided them all with cups of what Saria guesses must be tea, but hasn’t touched as of yet, and neither has Reis. After the incident in the unicorn-cursed town, perhaps they’re both once bitten, twice shy.

“... and so, that’s how we came to be here,” Lock finishes his explanation, having switched to Prashian for Reis’ benefit, since she couldn’t interject into the story easily otherwise. Edana, surprising, hasn’t interrupted at all, and neither has Vivianne. The older woman sits back in her chair and sips her tea contemplatively. 

“That’s quite a tale. You poor things. Especially you, Lock - to tear yourself away from your beloved mother, for the sake of bringing Edana home, must have taken a lot of courage,” she says with a sad nod. “Were that my own daughter were so dedicated to the one who raised her…”

He shakes his head quickly. “Though it was difficult, I had to right the wrong I committed.”

“She was trespassing,” Vivianne points out. “Multiple times, as you’ve told me. You were not wholly unjustified.”

“All the same, to blind her was… certainly too much,” he lowers his gaze again to his drink, frowning at his reflection in the dark surface. “Even if she has found a way to work around it, I have impaired her. I’m sure this will trouble not only her but you as well.”

“You’re really much too kind,” Vivianne smiles over the rim of her teacup. “And very humble as well. Edana will be plenty able to continue her work - she was able enough to swindle young Reis and Saria here into helping her, and she can make potions without her sight regardless, I’ve trained her well enough.”

“I see…” Lock nods along. “She demonstrated her capabilities on Reis. It’s truly a marvellous practice.”

“Isn’t it?” Vivianne brightens. “I’m very proud of my profession. These techniques have been passed down from mother to daughter for centuries. I can trace some recipes back 800 years, that’s 89 generations of Medicine Women. Edana will be the 90th. It’s an important milestone in our profession.”

“Mother,” Edana speaks up, surprisingly formal. “Can I… talk to you?”

Vivianne raises an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sitting right here, Edana.”

Strangely, Edana winces. “I mean… privately?”

Vivianne doesn’t acknowledge it. Indeed, she seems surprisingly indifferent, to Saria’s eyes. “Does it have to be right now? We have guests, Edana.”

“It’s… it’s important.”

With a put-upon sigh, Vivianne stands up from the table. “Very well. Do excuse my rudeness on my daughter’s behalf, why don’t you take a walk around the back garden? A lot of the autumn blooms are out and they’re quite lovely.”

Lock stands from the table as well, Reis following and Saria following her. “We’ll do that,” he says, with a nod. 

The garden is, indeed, quite marvelous. All manner of plants, ones that Saria knows from books and even some that she doesn’t, bloom in profusion around them. She’s never seen such an abundance of living plantlife in such variety all in one place before. The garden is partially shaded by a number of trees towards the rear of it, each of a different kind. She counts an oak, a yew tree, a birch, and a willow hanging its branches over the nearby stream, amongst a dozen others. Lock, in particular, seems fascinated by the water wheel, heading over to it and crouching down by the stream.

“Well, she seems nice?” Reis says as she bends down to rub a mint leaf with her fingers and smell the scent left behind. “Edana’s ma I mean.”

“I suppose…” Saria says, still unable to shake that strange feeling from earlier. It lingers even out here in the garden. “Edana looks a lot like her.”

“Yeah, a  _ lot _ like her. Dunno who her dad was, but he sure didn’t leave much of an impact, hah!”

They’ve walked quite a ways out into the garden, when Saria realises she can still hear talking coming from the house. Wafting out of the half-open back door is the smell of cooking, so she realises the kitchen must back onto the garden. Handy, if you’re out of herbs suddenly and need to pick something fresh. Saria stops walking on the garden path, and notices she can see over the top of a large holly bush right through the door of the kitchen, into the house itself. Vivianne and Edana are standing there talking, but that feeling from earlier won’t leave her alone, so she ends up eavesdropping. 

Reis notices, and doubles back to stand near her. “Saria, what are you--”

Saria holds up a finger over her lips, miming a ‘shh’. Catching on, Reis crouches down to obscure herself behind the holly bush also. 

“<This boy you met, ‘Red’,>” Vivianne has her arms folded, and her back turned to them. “<I won’t let you give him the Draught.>”

“<What?!>” Edana looks dismayed. “<But-- Mother!>” 

“<No buts. That is my final decision.>”

“<Mother, you don’t understand, the sort of feeling I sensed from this kid--!>”

“<Don’t say ‘kid’, I taught you better than that,>” she scolds Edana’s lack of formality, though Saria notes that she never did so when Reis was speaking, and her manner is always  _ much _ worse. “<And don’t bring up the oath to me either, I know you don’t really care about it. You’re only doing it because you want to get in his good graces and make money out of it as usual.>”

Edana reels back, mouth open. “<What-- no! This isn’t related to money! You’re not listening to me, that k- boy is not  _ normal, _ if I don’t do as he says-->”

“<If  _ you _ don’t? Edana, your actions do not speak only for yourself. You are a Medicine Woman! Everything you do in the name of being a Medicine Woman reflects on me, on your ancestors, and on the entire sisterhood across the nation!>” Vivianne is advancing on her daughter, and though they’re exactly the same height, she seems to tower over her intimidatingly. Perhaps it’s how Edana cringes away from her. “<You have already shamed us by trying, and worse,  _ failing _ , to steal a sacred flower from a sanctified spring, and now you’re trying to peddle potions like they’re a commodity to be sold like apples and pears, rather than an art form deserving of respect and dignity! Don’t you have a shred of  _ pride _ ? Can’t you at least  _ pretend _ like you want to be a good Medicine Woman?>”

Edana looks so frustrated that she might cry. “<But I-->”

The slap rings through the air, and Saria sees Reis put a hand to her mouth to stop a gasp from being too audible. Edana has been struck so hard that she’s fallen to the floor, no longer visible from where Saria and Reis peer through the window. 

“<How dare you continue to talk back to me like that!>” Vivianne snaps at her, enraged. The Albainese language turns guttural and harsh on her tongue, spitting out of her lips like acid. “<You’re a conniving little flea-bitten fox and you look like it too! Just look at these rags, is this what became of the robes I gave you!? I worked hard to earn those, and you ruined them! Have you been going around using the Medicine Woman title while looking like this? Disgraceful!>” her hand reaches down and comes back up grasping a fistful of Edana’s long red hair. “<All knotted and disheveled, you look like a street rat. And my boat is gone too! For  _ those of us _ who  _ aren’t _ in this business for money, purchases like a seaworthy vessel aren’t frivolous things we can get whenever! You never appreciate what I do for you!>” she lets out a growl of frustration, tugging on Edana’s hair hard enough for Saria to hear a yelp. “<Get up, I barely even touched you!>” 

Reis and Saria are both frozen to the spot in shock. It’s as though there are two Viviannes - the kind and reasonable one that they spoke to over tea just a few minutes earlier, and the one raining abuse and insults on her own daughter. She continues her tirade, insulting Edana further and bringing up seemingly unrelated past incidents that Saria thinks really don’t warrant repeating. She thinks she sees Vivianne’s leg move as though kicking something. Finally, after what feels like an age, she leaves the room, and silence falls again. 

A few moments later, the back door opens silently, and Edana creeps out, cheek red and swollen, feeling her way through the foliage to the shade of the large oak tree. Saria watches her nestle herself into a large dent in the trunk at the bottom, wrap her arms around her legs, and rest her head on her knees, curled up in a little ball of rags and red hair. 

Reis stands from behind the holly bush, shoulders slumped. “... I don’t know why I didn’t move,” she mutters. “I should have gone in there and stopped it. That was awful.”

Saria, not knowing what to say and very much in the same position, just takes Reis’ hand and gives what she hopes is a comforting squeeze. “... let’s just… go talk to her?”

“I’d sooner smack that bitch than talk.”

“Not to Vivianne. To Edana.”

“Oh, right,” Reis nods. “Of course. Yeah. Sorry, I’m just… pissed off.”

“I know…” Saria feels it too, the churning disgust that settles in her stomach, burning like acid in her throat. But she can’t go up to Edana while still feeling that, everything will come out all wrong that way, and Edana’s faced enough anger today. So Saria takes a deep breath, lets it go, and walks ahead of Reis, leading her along, to the base of the oak tree. 

Edana isn’t crying. She trembles a little, but no sounds escape her, no sniffles or hiccups. It almost makes it worse, to see her bottling it all up, and Saria doesn’t really know how to approach that. Thankfully, Edana speaks first. “I’m pitiful, aren’t I. She barely even touched me.”

“Barely even-- she hit you so hard you fell over!” Reis says, gesturing behind her at the house. “We saw what happened!”

“I know you saw. You’re bright green and gold to my eyes, I can’t miss you even amongst all the plants,” she raises her head, pearly eyes seeming somehow dull. “It’s fine. This happens a lot. I’m bad at being a Medicine Woman, so…”

Reis shakes her head hard. “No, you’re not! You’re so good with potions and magic and enchantment, you turned your own eyes into cool maen-vision things! Saria, you ever read about anyone doing that?”

“No, never,” Saria says softly. “There’s theories on how to do it, but nobody’s ever accomplished it. It really is a highly impressive technique.”

“See! Come on, Edana, it’s weird seeing you be all down on yourself! You’re like, our team firecracker!” Reis crouches down next to Edana, who gives an involuntary flinch. “I’m not gonna hurt ya, Edana…”

“I know,” Edana whispers. “I know, I just… sorry. She’s green too.”

“Who?”

“Mother.”

“Eugh,” Reis wrinkles her nose. “That’s gross, can I change my colour? I don’t wanna share it with her. Or anything with her. There’s gotta be a market for dyeing your maen aura. Can I make it rainbow tye-dye?”

The absurdity of the statement startles a small chuckle out of Edana, and Reis grins in victory. Saria crouches down by her too, and speaks quietly. “What do you need for the Draught?”

“Not a lot, most of it I can get myself, but… there are a few key ingredients that are only in the stock boxes in the house. You’d have no idea how to differentiate them, so don’t go thinking about taking them,” Edana replies.

“But could you differentiate them? Even without seeing?”

“Mother used to make me do potion making blindfolded. Sometimes, with one arm behind my back. Used to say that I’d never know when I’d have to work in total darkness, or after losing a limb. So… yeah, I can… but I have no idea how to get past…” then, she seems to catch on to Saria’s train of thought, and looks up at her sharply. “Wait…”

“If we keep her talking, distract her for long enough for you to steal the ingredients,” Saria offers. “Then, would you be able to make the Draught somewhere else?”

Edana nods quickly. “Any old pot would do for this one. It’s just the ingredients…”

“Then, we have a plan. Reis,” Saria looks to Reis, who snaps into a mock-salute. “I need you to be extremely, loudly, obnoxiously distracting.”

Reis grins widely. “Obnoxiously distracting is my middle name!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary for those who skipped due to Content Warning:   
The gang arrive at Edana's house, which is a cottage stuffed with potion ingredients, with a water wheel on the side. Lock is tricked by Edana and Reis into knocking on the door with his entire body, hilarity ensues.   
Vivianne Brillia appears, and is almost identical to her daughter, just 20 years older and with blue eyes. After explaining the situation, Saria still feels on edge around Vivianne, though she can't tell why. Reis and Saria and Lock go for a walk around the large herb garden in the back, when Reis and Saria overhear Edana explain to her mother that she has to make the Draught for Red. This quickly escalates into an abusive situation, and Reis and Saria watch in horror as Edana is beaten and insulted.   
Once it's over, they go to comfort Edana as she escapes into the garden. Together, they formulate a plan to steal the ingredients for the potion, and get revenge for how poorly Edana has been treated.


	9. Chapter 9

“I am not entirely sure this is a good idea,” Lock says, glumly. He’s standing on the nearby stream in full armour, his helmet giving his voice a strange echo-y quality. Reis, on the riverbank nearby, rests the Bow of Freija on her shoulder, still in its staff form.

“Pfft, it’s fine, you never told the lady what your relationship with your cousins is like, so she’ll totally buy the whole idea if you getting in a tussle with the local water spirits,” she pats his back, causing the armour to rattle and clunk. Saria is still quite fascinated by the way it catches light just like the scales of a big black fish.

“It concerns me that my cousins were so keen on participating. They were saying they’d been waiting a while to, ah, ‘enact justice’. What exactly does that mean?” Lock turns his head to look (Saria assumes) at Reis, who in turn just flaps a hand at him.

“We’ll give you the details later, just stick to the plan, and know that Edana’s ma is not worth our time, or our patience, or our anything actually.”

Lock’s face is obscured but Saria can still sense the frown in his voice. “One should always respect one’s mother…”

“Maybe, if your ma’s worthy of respect, like yours is,” Reis says, then takes a glance over her shoulder. “Ah, she’s coming!”

Indeed, Vivianne Brillia is walking out of her cottage toward where Reis, Saria, and Lock stand at the water’s edge. Her eyebrows raise as she studies the figure of the knight in his armour. “Goodness, what’s all this? Is there something the matter?”

“Lock sensed something coming through the water nearby!” Reis cries dramatically, taking up a wary pose. She looks around, eyes narrowed. “I think they know we’re here…”

“They? Who are ‘they’…?” Vivianne asks, looking around as well.

“My cousins,” Lock replies, but seems unwilling to continue the lie further, so Reis picks it up again instead. 

“They have a slightly… tumultuous relationship, shall we say? Between the ones in Albaines and the ones in Prash, bit of bad blood. You know how it is with spirits, grudges for either a day over someone dying, or for a thousand years because you borrowed their pen and didn’t give it back.”

Vivianne frowns. “And you suspect… that they’ll bring the fight here?”

“It is not a matter of suspicion,” Lock says, settling into a fighting stance, his sword materialising in his hand. “Here they come.”

The relative quiet of the Albainese countryside is broken by a sound like the roar of a hungry beast. Surging up the river is a wall of water, bubbling and broiling at the front with the screaming, angry faces of women, their hands clawing out ahead of them. Even for acting, they’re making a very good impression of enraged ondines, enough for Saria to back away from the water, and for Vivianne to do so too.

“We-- we should get inside!” Vivianne yells, trying to grab Saria to pull her away, but Saria dodges her hands, unable to quite keep the revolted look off her face, and hides behind Reis instead. Just in time, too, as the ondines blast past the waterwheel on the cottage, destroying it and taking a chunk of the wall with it. Vivianne gasps in shock. “No!”

“Stay behind us!” Lock calls, holding up his sword. “Cousins! I don’t want to hurt you!”

Reis draws her bow back, aiming as the enormous wall of water looms up above them, pausing for a dramatic effect with hundreds of ondines falling over each other to have their turn screeching at them. Saria catches several of them smiling though their screams. Then, chaos falls, as they swarm Lock in particular, who makes quite a good show of ‘fighting’ them, slashing and swinging his sword with almost as much ferocity as when he was battling Reis at the lake. Reis, on her part, starts firing arrows into the fray, though with no particular power or charge in them, they mostly just get batted away (and then neatly, secretly put aside) by the mass of ondines.

While all this is happening, and Vivianne watches the display with awe and horror, Saria knows that Edana is sneaking in through the back of the house, gathering all the materials she possibly can. She’d asked them to keep her mother distracted for a minimum of three minutes while she got everything - Saria only hopes that the destroyed waterwheel and damage to the house doesn’t delay her.

“Take this, and that!” Reis is yelling, firing yet more arrows into the bubbling frenzy on the water. Lock leaps gracefully into the air, followed by a waterspout that twists up and around on his heels. The display is beautiful, in a number of ways, despite its ferocity. Saria wonders if this is perhaps how Lock practiced his skills with his sword in the first place, with mock-fights against his cousins. 

The distraction works well, and after a few minutes, Edana appears at their side. She’s changed out of her rags, finally, into a new set of clothes that Saria feels are familiar. After a moment, she realises they’re the same ones depicted on the waypost that marked the Brillia house on the road - a red cloak with a hood, and a dress with a white apron. Edana looks around the scene with wide eyes. “What the hell?! The house nearly exploded, I couldn’t find my way here! Did they catch up to us this fast?!”

“I think I’ve almost got ‘em!” Reis shouts, jumping back a little from the fight. “Lock!”

On cue, Lock raises his sword high above his head. Reis trains her sights on the shining blade, aims her arrow, and fires. This arrow is the only one that has an actual arrowhead on it, not that Vivianne has had any time to notice, with how fast Reis has been firing. When the Petean steel makes contact with Lock’s blade, the air is suddenly filled with a high pitched ringing noise, not unlike an out of tune bell being struck hard enough to break it. The ondines cringe away from the sound, covering their ears and retreating back up the stream. Saria is surprised - did the sound actually hurt them? It didn’t seem like acting to her. 

“Back, fair cousins!” Lock shouts. “We shall settle this another day! For now, I bid you leave!”

And so, the ondines do indeed disperse, flitting off downstream like a hundred fish, from sizes big as your thumb to tall as a person. Saria watches as the scene settles again into calm. Reis wipes her brow, and lets the bow return to being a staff again.

“Nice job, Lock, we live to fight another day,” she calls to where Lock still stands on the water, though he presently steps off its surface, his armour falling away into scales that vanish as they hit the ground. Reis turns to Vivianne, her smile becoming a little stiff. “Sorry ‘bout your house. We’re heading to Avalon next, so we’ll give a message to a builder for you.”

Vivianne stands there, mouth hanging open in shock. Edana is standing a good couple of feet away, out of arm’s reach, and Saria realises she’s been doing that since the beginning, always standing far enough away from her mother that she can’t be touched by her. When Vivianne suddenly straightens and frowns, Saria sees Edana edge just slightly further away.

“It’s fine. One of my other daughters is married to a tradesman who lives in the city,” she says snootily, and Saria abruptly feels very sorry that more than one person had to endure this woman for their whole childhood. “You can go to her. Edana, stay here and help me clean up.”

Edana looks like she’s going to say something, but Vivianne shoots her a look out of the corner of her eye, and Edana makes a strangled sound of words dying in her throat that Saria knows all too well. Somehow the sound of it enables her own voice to rise.

“We need Edana,” she says, attracting Vivianne’s gaze. “For. A discount. And to prove that you’re a priority customer,  _ and _ to help us navigate the city. I’ve seen maps, some parts of it are like a maze, and we’re all foreigners here. If we go alone, we don’t know how long things will take.”

Vivianne considers her for a while, with a look on her face so blank that it makes Saria more nervous than a frown ever could. “... very well,” Vivianne says eventually. “But I want her back immediately afterwards,” she adds, not even giving Edana the option of refusing.

“We’ll be as fast as we can!” Reis chirps, already having gone and fetched the horses, saddled, and attached them to the cart. “In fact, we’ll leave right now!” 

“Thank you for your hospitality, madame,” Lock says, climbing onto the back of the cart and offering Edana a hand up as well, which she takes without hesitation, eager to get out of here. “Apologies, again, for the damage.”

“Mmn,” is all that Vivianne says in reply, which suits Saria just fine, because she really doesn’t want to continue their conversation, not now her heart has remembered that it’s meant to be hammering in her throat at all times. 

“See ya!” Reis grins with an overly cheerful attitude, and encourages the horses on. The cart rattles down the gravel pathway, and the cottage disappears behind a grove of trees. As soon as they’re out of earshot and safely back on the road, Reis drops the guise and does a full-body shudder. “Eugh, I need a hot bath and a lot of soap to scrub the gross feelings off my body from that lady. Saria, is that how you feel around people all the time?”

“Not, um, all the time…” Saria mumbles, and in fact, with Vivianne, the feeling had been initially muted, somehow cloaked behind all the niceties and friendliness. Her intuition isn’t always perfect, it seems. “Are you okay, Edana?”

Edana is smoothing out her new clothes, looking much more like an actual Medicine Woman now she’s cleaned up. She seems to have also brushed most of the knots out of her long hair, and put several plaits in it, to keep it from flying in her face. “I got everything, if that’s what you mean.”

“Um, that’s good, yes, but are  _ you _ okay?” Saria’s brow pinches in concern. 

“... I dunno. I guess? I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things haven’t gone well for me whenever anything big like that has happened in the past. Damage to the house or anything not being perfect in front of guests…” she trails off, and a heavy silence falls. However, a moment later, Edana looks up at them all and smiles. “But, I never really had anyone stick up for me before. Or, pull any crazy stunts with ondines to help me escape. So… thanks, you guys.”

“Naaaah, ain’t nothin’ to it!” Reis grins. “Wish I coulda smacked her one myself, but priority is totally getting you outta there. You ain’t never gotta go back if ya don’t wanna, Edana, okay? Come be a cool wanderer like me! Hey, you can meet my uncle Lor, and we can ride horses, and I bet you can do way more good traveling around a country than by just sitting in one spot waiting for people to come to you!”

Reis’ babbling seems to be cheering Edana up even more, and then Lock turns around in his seat to face her. “During the fight,” he begins slowly, “The ondines were telling me about what they’ve… witnessed. I’m sorry I doubted that anything was wrong. I should have taken you all at your word. After hearing about that woman’s… behaviour, I am no longer surprised that you were so desperate to bring back the Ladies of the Lake. Not doing so would probably have been dangerous for you.”

Now Edana’s face turns slightly pink in the cheeks, and she clears her throat. “I-it’s fine, I didn’t tell you in the first place because I don’t want your pity. So let’s just, you know, put it all behind us. Okay? All of it,” she toys with the hem of her apron. “You brought me back here, so you’ve fulfilled your side of the bargain. You don’t really need to follow us around any more. You could go home if you wanted, Lock.”

Lock, surprisingly, is shaking his head before Edana has even finished her sentence. “I said I would deliver you safely home. That place is neither safe for you, nor a true home. A home is where you feel comfortable and protected. That was merely a house. So,” Lock turns back around to face the direction they’re traveling. “I will remain with you, until I am satisfied that you will be  _ safely home _ . Is that agreeable to you?”

Edana has turned almost as red as her cloak, and is blinking her eyes rapidly. “... f-fine! Do what you want, I guess I’ll keep babysitting you for a little longer! All of you! Reis will probably lose a limb in the next  _ real _ fight if I don’t anyway.”

Reis bristles at the unexpected joke at her expense. “Wh- hey! What did I do?!”

Edana, for the first time since they entered the cottage, finally laughs freely.

\----

The white walls of Avalon are even more dazzling up close in the light of the setting sun, which turns them a vivid orange, blending perfectly against the pink and red sky. It almost looks as though the ivory towers of the city enclosed beyond them are aflame, with each lamp light a flickering ember. Saria feels an unpleasant memory resurface with the comparison, and tries to mentally bat it away - arriving at Avalon is a good thing. They spent all this time, and went through so much getting here, she needs to be happy about it, or else the whole journey will have been a waste.

Well, perhaps not the whole journey, she thinks as she looks over at Reis excitedly babbling to Edana about what the walls are made of, about how she heard rumours they were enchanted, and about how the thin slits placed about them seemingly randomly were for archers to snipe enemies from unexpected places. Edana is indulging her curiosity by answering as well as she can. Lock keeps his eyes peeled, clearly not used to the crowds that come from even being near a big city, let alone inside one. Saria feels for him, but Reis’ excitement is just as infectious, and Edana’s unusual patience settles her worries. 

If she hadn’t come on this journey, if she hadn’t been in all the right places at the right time, she wouldn’t have ever come to Avalon, and she wouldn’t have met Reis, Edana, or Lock. For the first time, she could say that she had friends. Human friends, not just cats that slept in the sun on the steps of the library, or particular books she’s become over-familiar with. 

She wonders if Milya would be proud of her.

“Should we not find an inn?” Lock suggests, stopping Reis from questioning Edana about the street layout for a moment. They’ve passed through the gates, and are now trundling their cart along the cobbled streets, shaded into early nightfall by the tall walls. Young boys with long poles run along the street, lighting lamps on buildings and on posts, wearing a special green and blue sash that denotes their job as lamp lighters.

“Oh, right, we should… no way they’ll let us into the castle at this time of the evening,” Reis agrees, but then grimaces. “I didn’t have any time to catch anything that we could sell for coin…”

“It’s not a problem,” Edana speaks up. “I have a sister who owns an inn. We can probably stay there without money.”

Reis squints at Edana. “I thought your sister married a tradesman.”

Edana mock-squints back. “I have… wait for it… this may shock you… more than one sister! Gasp! Say it ain’t so!”

“Har har, thank you Lady Sarcasm of Dry-Wit,” Reis rolls her eyes. Saria is internally glad that Edana is feeling better, or at least good enough to start making fun of Reis again. “Alright, whatever, let’s go! To the… uh.”

“The Oaken Man Inn,” Edana supplies.

“To the Oaken Man Inn!” Reis declares. 

“Do you mean that one?” Lock says, pointing ahead at a considerably sized inn a short ways down the street. The sign out the front has a man’s face arranged out of oak leaves. 

“Oh, huh. Yeah!” Reis grins. “Let’s go see your sister! Or, uh, not see, in your case.”

Edana gives her an unimpressed look, and as the cart stops, hops off the back of it with her nose in the air. The uneven cobbles make her stumble for a moment, until Lock hands her the walking stick she’s been using for navigating unknown territory. Reis ties up the horses as Edana taps her way to the wall, and then along towards the door. “I can sorta see the entrance… ” she says, with a frown. “I think she’s enchanted the doorway, it has too strong an aura to just come from the wood or stone itself.” 

“Alright then, I’ll go first!” Reis decides, and without further ado, she steps through the doorway. Nothing happens. “Nothing happened!”

“Then, I shall go next,” Lock decides, and does the same as Reis. Again, no changes. 

Saria follows him through, to a similar non-result. The inside of the inn is as she expected, with a bar and several tables set up, but no patrons at the moment. The old wood and low ceiling make her wonder how long ago this place was built, but she’s jarred from her thoughts when a loud, blaring alarm goes off. Edana, having stepped through the doorway, is standing there looking just as surprised as everyone else. From the back of the bar, a woman runs out holding a crossbow, aiming it at the door. Edana, oblivious, has no idea what’s being pointed at her, but Lock is quickly in front of her, though unable to materialise his sword and armour without water.

A tense moment passes where the woman holds the crossbow steady, staring down Lock. Saria realises she’s clinging to Reis’ arm, and Reis has her staff in hand just in case. The unknown woman is short, with curly dark hair and blue eyes, with fair skin to boot. She seems familiar to Saria somehow… 

The moment passes as the woman sighs, lowers her crossbow, and sets it on the bar with a heavy thunk. Then she claps her hands, and the alarm turns off. “<Gods’ sake, Edana, it’s just you.>”

“<Since when did you set up a security field?>” Edana asks from behind Lock, who still hasn’t stood aside. “<And why to detect  _ me _ ?>”

“<Not  _ you _ specifically, it’s meant to detect mother, but you know how bad I am at this stuff, so it got a little non-specific. It goes off on me sometimes too.> ”

Now Saria figures out why this woman looks so familiar - if it weren’t for her dark hair, she could be Edana’s twin. Perhaps she is? But either way, this is certainly her sister. Lock and Reis come to the same conclusion at the same time, sighing. Reis steps forward and holds out a hand to shake. 

“Hiya, name’s Reis, this is Lock and this is Saria. Edana said you might have a place for us to stay the night,” Reis gives her best Friendly Smile. In response, Edana’s sister turns and grins back, taking Reis’ offered hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss Reis, I’m the owner of the Oaken Man Inn, Elana Ingress!” her Prashian is as fluent as Edana’s, though a little more accented.

Reis chuckles. “Elana, Edana, man your ma was uncreative. Where are Epana and Efana?”

“Last I checked, down south in Corwella and up north in Osk, respectively,” Elana chirps back, unruffled and still smiling even as Reis chokes on her own sarcasm. “As you can see, we’re a bit slow-going at the moment, but within the hour we’ll be heaving with customers in here, so you’ve come at the right time to get your rooms before all hell breaks loose. Now, our rates are--”

“They don’t have money, Elana!” Edana calls from behind Lock. 

Elana releases Reis’ hand like it’s dirty. “Oh.”

“We’re willing to work for our keep, though!” Reis offers. “I’m a huntress, and--”

“I don’t need a huntress,” Elana interrupts, and looks Reis up and down. “But, I do need a waiter. And a pot scrubber. And a  _ cook _ , Edana…” she turns and properly faces her sister for the first time without Lock in the way, and pauses. “... Edana? Your face… your eyes! What did she do to you?!”

“No, it’s…” Edana sighs. “... we have some stuff to talk about.”

\----

“Order up for table 3!” Elana bellows from the kitchen, steam billowing out of the serving hatch window, a small opening in the wall between the inn’s food preparation area and the bar itself. Through the hole, Saria can see Edana with her long hair gathered into a bun, bent over an enormous crock pot of soup, while other things fry nearby. Saria is highly impressed that Edana can still cook so well as long as the ingredients are handed to her. Elana is the one plating up the food though, to make sure it also  _ looks _ good as well as tastes good.

“Ooorder up for table 3, coming out!” Reis echoes back, having settled into the role of waiter surprisingly quickly. Saria thinks that it suits her - the jovial attitude and lightness on her feet that Reis already possesses are put to good use dodging around tables and irritable, hungry people alike. The way the apron cinches in at her waist doesn’t do any harm either.

“I will be honest,” Lock says from close by to Saria, arms vanishing in elbow-deep soapy water as he washes dishes with perhaps only a  _ little _ bit of cheating with magic. “This is a new experience for me. And not entirely how I thought we would be spending our time in Avalon.”

“Eh, what does it matter?” Reis says, sticking her head through the back room door. “It’s nice to be somewhere so lively, I think! And you never know how much info you can pick up from eavesdropping on dinner tables! Oh, Saria, here, table 14’s bill for you.” 

Saria has absolutely no ability to liaise with crowds, her cooking is average at best, and while she could do fine as a dishwasher, Edana let slip that she was a librarian, and Elana had pounced on the opportunity immediately. And so, Saria sits at a little desk in a room that is really more like a storage closet, tallying up records and bills and calculating change. Reis hands her a small bowl filled with money, and Saria dutifully files it away in the right money pots. Then she writes up a receipt, handing it back to Reis with the change. The entire exchange takes about 30 seconds to a minute, depending on how much the patrons chose to eat and drink.

“Your quick handwriting looks like something a fancy scribe would take 2 months to illustrate,” Reis ruminates as she reads over the receipt. “But you’re so damn speedy! Oh, I can see table 6 leaving, back in a second!”

To be honest, Saria doesn’t mind this. She hasn’t been able to pick up a quill or a pencil to write with for their entire journey, and her writing hand is getting a bit stiff without the constant practice. She had often helped the Librarians copy down receipts of books being duplicated for the Library’s stock, so simply writing out the same dishes and prices multiple times hardly requires as much mental effort as remembering titles and authors, some of which had odd spellings. 

“All the same, it’s been nearly three days,” Lock continues, scrubbing the remains of some burnt-on sauce from the edge of a large pot. His strong arms make lifting the heavy kitchenware an easy task. “Gracious as Madame Elana has been to host us here while we wait for Edana’s draught to brew in the basement, I had rather hoped that we would make some sort of progress towards getting in to the palace by now.”

Saria would like to agree, but at the same time, doing paperwork by lamplight in a quiet little corner is very much her comfort zone, and confronting royalty is not. The Book of Mohra is sitting on a spare chair by her side, still wrapped up in the same linen cloth that she used to fasten it to her back as she and Reis fled from that strange black cloud that came to the Petean travellers camp. 

“No point getting antsy about going,” Elana comments as she comes through the door to check on Saria’s work. The first few times, she’d expressed disbelief that Saria was writing so fast and calculating so much in such a short space of time. By this point, she’s reduced her astonished expletives down to impressed grunts and hums, and does so as she leans over Saria’s shoulder to check their takings for the evening. “Not when there’s rumours that Orlon has gone completely silent.”

Reis comes back in at this time with another bowl of cash from table 6. “Alright, I’ll bite, who’s Orlon? Not the first time we’ve heard that name being thrown around, is he important somehow?”

Elana shoots Reis a look like she’s waltzed in with a second head. “He’s only the Mohra of Albaines, you idiot. Of course he’s important, especially at a time like this!”

“Albaines’ Mohra, huh? Just the guy we’re trying to meet!” Reis grins as Saria quickly calculates the total and hands back the change to her again.

Elana rolls her eyes. “You and every noble in Albaines. A Mohra can only choose a new candidate for ruler out of the people they’ve physically met - so everyone’s clamouring for five minutes with him about now, I’m willing to bet. Still, this is taking a long-ass time. Orlon’s so old he’s outlived 3 rulers by this point, and he’s never taken this long to choose a successor before.”

“Perhaps the book would be of use to him,” Lock offers, drying off a set of cutlery and putting them back in a basket to be returned to the tables. “If it seems that he is having trouble. All the more reason for us to make haste.”

“Ugh, fine fine fine, you can all have the day off tomorrow,” Elana flaps a hand at them, picking up the cutlery basket. “But I want you guys back here before the dinner rush starts!” she adds as she walks out to the front, switching immediately back to her cheerful customer service facade as two more customers come through the door. 

Lock waits until she’s out of earshot before adding. “On a continuum of the Brillia family, I feel like she is an odd middle-point between her mother and her sister in terms of… the ability to switch personas at will.”

“Just say she’s two-faced, man, it’s easier. Makes it easy to figure out why none of her actual staff are here too,” Reis comments as she heads back out as well. 

The evening continues on, and while Saria’s workflow doesn’t stutter, her thoughts are now plagued with what they would be doing tomorrow. After coming all this way, across a continent and an ocean, finally she would have to let go of the Mohra book, and leave it in the possession of someone who should rightly own it. But… even so, even though she knows this is what the purpose of her journey has been the entire time, the thought of handing over the book leaves her with a lump in her throat and a rock in her stomach. 

But, she’s sure it will be fine. It has to be fine. Reis has worked so hard to get her here safely, and Edana and Lock have gotten caught up in this whole thing as well. For her to falter here would be a betrayal to all of them as well. So when service finishes and Reis is done cleaning tables, Saria closes the record book for the night, and heads to bed early.

\----

The gates of the palace of Avalon are well-guarded, enormous structures taller than most of the houses nearby. Perched atop the hill the city is built on, elegantly constructed of solid stone with a gleaming white facade, the castle itself is decorated with beautiful carvings of queens and warriors, kings and dragons, and even stained glass windows on the great hall itself. Not that they can be seen very easily from the drawbridge before the great gate, which is made of oak several feet thick, and requires no fewer than ten strong men to move. Saria is used to the grand architecture that rulers often surround themselves with - the Library of Alexra was a royal possession and looked like it too - but this foreign design of building makes her feel small, as if the guards’ stares weren’t doing that already.

Reis makes no indication that she’s intimidated at all. In fact, her grin and inability to stay still betrays her excitement all too easily. Edana and Lock are slightly more sober, though Lock seems more intrigued by the moat surrounding the castle. To have a moat on top of a hill seems like an incredible feat of engineering, to Saria, but she suspects he’s more interested in talking to the local ondines that live in it. At least Elana didn’t let them all go off to the castle wearing their travel-worn garments - Reis has a new poncho with a slightly more Albainese flare to the patterning, and Lock has an additional navy blue travelling cloak. Saria’s clothes are not much worse for wear, and Edana keeps fussing at her restored Medicine Woman garb.

“Welp!” Reis chirps after they’ve all spent enough time standing around admiring the scenery. “No time like the present! Let’s go talk to a guard to let us in. That guy over there looks all official, he’s probably the gatekeeper.”

The man Reis indicates towards does look like he has higher status than the rest - his armour is much the same, but his silver chestplate has an accent of gold, and a blue sash hangs over it, from his shoulder to his hip. He also seems to be slightly older than the rest of the young and fit guardsmen, and looks down his nose as Reis approaches. “<State your business.>”

“<We’ve come to see Orlon!>” Reis cuts right to the chase before Edana and the others can catch up. “<There’s something we’ve got that we think will be really useful to him!>”

A beat of silence passes, before the gatekeeper scoffs. “<Very funny, young man. Go on, off with you. I’ve seen you before at that inn, you’re just a server.>”

Reis shakes her head. “<No, that was just us trying to pay room and board. Our real reason for coming to Albaines was to see Orlon.>”

“<Well then you’re out of luck, aren’t you? Orlon isn’t seeing anyone at the moment, much less some random foreigners who scrub dishes for a living,>” the gatekeeper sneers at them. 

Lock frowns. “<There is no reason to be rude.>”

“<You think I stand out here all the time for my health? I’m doing my job keeping ruffians and wanderers from interrupting actual,  _ important _ business going on inside the castle,>” Saria isn’t sure whether this man can actually make himself tall enough to look down his nose at Reis and Lock, but he certainly is trying. “<Just because you dress yourselves up to look nicer doesn’t mean I can’t see through to what you really are.>”

Reis’ brow twitches. “<What the… you have no idea who we are, any of us!>”

“<Good sir, if I may,>” Edana begins, trying to save the conversation before Reis can get too angry and ruin their chances. “<I am the Medicine Woman Edana, and-->”

The gatekeeper interrupts with a harsh bark of a laugh. “<Hah! A Medicine Woman, sure! Who’d you pay for that getup, little blind rat? Or who’d you  _ rob _ for it, more likely.>”

“<She didn’t  _ rob _ anyone for this,>” Lock steps forward, brow furrowed, and the action causes the guards around them to shift uneasily, clutching their gleaming spears. “<You are being unnecessarily malignant and I’ll politely ask you to stop one more time.>”

The gatekeeper seems intimidated for a half second, before he regains his bluster. “<You talk like a noble but your attitude betrays you for a common thug. One wrong move and you’re going to the dungeons of the jailhouse. Only one of you who hasn’t managed to irk me yet is that one with the glasses,>” and he nods towards Saria, who stiffens in fright. “<You’re smart enough to keep your mouth shut. Or is she just too dumb to speak Albainese?>”

Saria speaks more languages than anyone else in their group, but of course she can’t use any of them to defend herself. She only lowers her gaze, shoulders sloping down as the guards around them chuckle under their breaths at her. They came all this way, worked so hard, but like this… they would never get inside. The whole thing was a worthless effort, the blood, sweat, and tears that were shed amounting to nothing. Her eyes sting and she thinks about bolting, but the same impulse keeps her frozen to the spot. 

“<Hear me!>” Reis suddenly bellows at top volume, in a type of Albainese that Saria has never heard her speak before. She racks her brain before she can even remember what the words mean. This mode of speech is so old-fashioned that it isn’t even used anymore, apart from in formal declarations. Against her fear, she raises her head.

Reis has pulled her bow-staff out from where she keeps it fastened to her back. She holds it, clenched in her fist, in the air above her head. Each end shines with an unusual green light, and before Saria’s eyes, the staff seems to grow and shift like a living piece of wood, sprouting beautiful red and blue blossoms from each tip. They shed their petals and continue to grow new ones, causing a storm of flowers to settle around Reis’ feet and blow about in the wind that has started picking up, swirling them around her. The gatekeeper takes a step back, eyes wide. Reis’ back is to Saria, but the hard and cold way she speaks gives her plenty enough clue as to her expression.

“<If the Kingdom of Albaines still be possessed of true honour, and the words spoken by our ancestors in treaties still be upheld, thou  _ shalt _ permit us entrance!>” Reis speaks loud enough for the entire drawbridge to hear, as well as for people to start gathering and looking over the edge of the top of the gate. “<For thine eyes rest upon and thine ears heed the words of  _ Alfreisel Irfigta Thorfreyja _ , Overseer of the Five Hundred Fjords, Mistress of the Bow of Freyja, and Successor to the Stone Throne of Petea!>”

A silence settles over the area. Saria’s feels like even her heart has stopped in the wake of Reis’ words. What?  _ What _ ?

Then, a feminine voice speaks from the top of the gates, amongst the many people who have clumped together on the walkway above to peer down to the commotion below.

“<Let them in.>”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secret princess, secret princess!


	10. Chapter 10

Having grown up her entire life inside the halls of the Royal Library of Alexra, Saria thought she was quite used to palace grandeur. Granted, she had only been inside the Palace of Alexra once, to attend a birthday party for Prince Midias, and that had been such an unpleasant affair for her that she decided never to respond to his invitations again. However, the architecture had a similar flare to it as the Library - tall marble pillars, hanging banners and curtains and reed blinds to keep out the sun, and statues of previous monarchs everywhere. It was open, airy, and always pleasantly cool despite the beating of the sun on the roof. The reclining couches looked comfortable, the food was always well cooked and just ripened to perfection, and the servants popped up with smiles and offers of more wine wherever you went. Really, her avoidance of the place had been entirely due to Midias’ constant presence there, rather than the fault of the building, which was always very welcoming.

The Castle of Avalon is not like the Palace of Alexra.

Although the exterior is clad in shining white stone, the interior is thick blocks of grey rock, impenetrable to all but, somehow, the cold air, which seeps in despite the beautiful stained glass windows that filter megre light through and dye it all the colours it could possibly be, taking away some of the monochromatic tones of the space. The floors are wood, polished to a shine, but it’s clear that there were once rugs and carpets in places that have been removed, based on the wear on the polish. Similarly, the shadows of tapestries that once hung on the walls are made evident by the slightly different colour of the stones around them which have been exposed to more sunlight. As Saria looks down the long hallway they have been lead into, she notes how bare it looks, like it’s been stripped of all its finery on purpose. 

“Do please forgive the state of the palace, your grace,” says the lead gatekeeper, utterly reformed in his attitude as if by magic. He speaks surprisingly good Prashian, though heavily accented - which makes Saria even more annoyed at how he taunted them for their Albainese earlier. “We are very dressed down during the process of mourning the king, may he rest with the gods now.”

“Mmn,” Reis grunts, very much the same as usual despite her grandiose words earlier. If anything, she seems somewhat embarrassed by her speech, not quite meeting Saria’s eyes, or indeed, Edana or Lock’s. Maybe she can see in their eyes all the questions they want to ask her. “It’s fine. Not as though you knew we were coming.”

“No, no, indeed, if we had I’m sure everyone would be ready to greet you, but as it stands, there are a series of meetings going on throughout the day,” the gatekeeper wrings his hands nervously. 

Reis inclines her head, looking towards one of the many intricately carved wooden doors that line the grand hallway of the palace. “Who was that who called down to us from the parapets on top of the gates?”

“Ah, that voice, I believe, belonged to one of the Ladies of the court. One of her majesty Queen Gwenhyfar’s confidants, Thaelina. I have no doubt she’ll be here shortly.”

“Thaelina, hm,” Reis raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound totally Albainese.”

The gatekeeper gives a nervy chuckle. “Ahaha, oh, she isn’t. Believe it or not, your grace, she is a former subject of yours. Fled the destruction of--”

“Annexation,” Reis corrects with a frown and a sharp look. 

“The-- The annexation of Petea, yes. Somehow she found herself befriending the queen while she was still a young lady. They’re very close - I’m sure she’d be delighted to have someone to speak her old tongue with!” 

Reis seems about to say something else, then straightens as there is movement at the top of the staircase towards the end of the hall. Descending the stone stairway is a woman with pale skin, long blonde hair in an elaborate braided hairstyle, and the same, almost startling green eyes as Reis herself. Her dress is so long that she has to pick up the front part of the skirts to not trip over them as she walks, and she hitches it up higher as she begins to hurry towards them, stopping a short distance from Reis and immediately sweeping into a low curtsey.

“<Your highness,>” she says in Petean, and with a flick of her arms causes her long, open sleeves to fall back to her elbows, exposing her bare forearms as he raises her hands. The pose looks near worshipful, and Reis immediately looks awkwardly off to the side. “<It is an enormous joy and relief to see you alive and well. Forgive a daughter of your herd for not preparing an appropriate reception for you, I beg of you.>”

“<Oh geez you don’t have to-- I, er. I bid you rise, fellow of Petea, I bear you no ill will,” Reis says quickly, and it’s still _ so _ odd to hear her speak in the formal way that she laughed about Saria using. “<Rather it is a blessing to meet any of the herd still breathing, much less one so clearly well cared for. You are spoken of, but to hear your name from your own mouth would be a gift.>”

“<Thaelina Olfaeth, your highness, humble a name as it may be, I hope it pleases you,>” she stands, gracefully, and to look at her more closely, you would think she and Reis could be sisters. It’s the line of her jaw and the shape of her nose that mark her differently, but besides that, she’s nearly as tall as Reis, and though she holds herself with the sort of courtly grace Saria would expect out of someone who grew up around nobility, there’s a faint wildness still left untamed in her gaze. Saria jumps a little when that gaze turns on her, though it’s accompanied by a smile. “<And my warmest greetings to your entourage as well. I hope your journey here was not arduous. And your _ welcome _ was _ pleasant _ .>” She turns a sharp look towards the gatekeeper, who quickly bows his head and slinks off.   
  


“<Boy, you don’t know the half of it,>” Reis chuckes slightly. “<Ah, but, these three don’t speak good Petean yet, so, how is your Prashian?>”

“Capable, I think, of at least light conversation,” Thaelina fluidly switches. “Though do forgive any mistakes I make, I’m told I’m bad with my tenses.”

“I can detect no error,” Lock speaks up. “I am Lock, son of Nimué.”

“Greetings, Lock Nimuéson. You seem a fine guardian for her majesty,” Thaelina smiles back up at him, likely impressed by his size. Before he can correct her that he is not, actually, some sort of bodyguard, and that that isn’t his last name, she turns instead to Edana. “My, a medicine woman too?”

“Indeed, ma’am,” Edana says, curtseying with her polite business smile on. “Edana Brillia, at your service. But, primarily, at the service of the princess.” She grins at Reis as the latter’s head whips around to squint at her. Saria very nearly does the same. Where’d this formality come from? 

“And may I have the honour of your name?” Thaelina turns to Saria now, and the weight of the sudden attention hits her like a truck. And though Saria opens her mouth… nothing. Her throat seizes up, and she has to lower her gaze. 

“This is Saria,” Reis comes to her rescue. “She’s not much of a talker until you get onto books and such, then you can’t stop her, haha!”

“Oh, I see!” Thaelina replies, as though she understands. “Right, right, I’m sure you’ll greatly enjoy the palace library, perhaps we can visit it. Ah, that does bring me to the question, your highness, of the purpose of your visit?”

Reis snaps her fingers. “Ah! Yeah, we’re here to see Orlon. Traveled a long way for it too, we need to show him something we brought. Saria’s got it right now.”

There’s a long, awkward silence. “Orlon, huh…” Thaelina says, smiling the sort of faint smile someone uses when they’re about to tell you bad news and don’t entirely know how to phrase it yet. Saria’s stomach drops. But rather than actually say anything on the topic, Thaelina swiftly brightens. “But first you simply have to meet the queen! Gwenhyfar and I have been friends for many years, I’m sure she would be delighted to meet a fellow royal. Please follow me, she’s in the red lounge.” 

And then she turns to walk off. Lock and Edana obediently follow, with the latter looking back with some raised eyebrows at Reis and Saria before continuing forward. Saria finds herself still rooted to the spot, until Reis puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Don’t worry about it, Saria. She seems cool, right? She’s not gonna hold it against you.”

“That’s not it…” Saria utters back. “Orlon… the book…”

“... yeah, okay, her pause was a little weird. But maybe he’s just super busy and she thinks he won’t see us? Not that we’ll let him get away that easy, right?” she gives her a grin, and puts an arm around Saria to pull her close to her side. She’s warm, Saria can feel it through even her thicker clothes. “We’ll be fine. This trip won’t have been for nothing.”

Saria isn’t so sure, but she tries to trust Reis is right. She _ hopes _ she is, because if she isn’t… she doesn’t know what she’ll do. 

And there is one other thing. “... Reis… why didn’t you say that you were--”

“Are you guys gonna come in here or what?” Edana calls down the hallway at them. “They have a fire going!”

“Coming!” Reis yells back, beginning to walk forward, taking Saria with her. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? I’m still same old Reis. Promise.”

“Okay…” Saria says quietly, as she’s steered through the door and into the blissful warmth. 

The fire really does make a big difference. The size of the fireplace alone could fit a human being inside it quite comfortably, and the flames inside are easily enough to heat the expansive room. It is similarly sparsely decorated, the extravagant furnishings removed for the purposes of mourning, so Saria can only assume it was called the ‘red lounge’ because it had been red before. Now, it’s just a dull grey of bare stone, occasionally speckled with light from the stained glass. Sitting in a large wooden chair, and wrapped in a shawl, is a woman with dark hair streaked with grey. Her refined features are illuminated by the flickering firelight, and though she wears entirely black and grey clothing, she still manages to look utterly regal. Saria immediately feels like she has intruded on something private, and only belatedly notices the others in the room, Edana presently coming out of a curtsey and Lock a bow. 

Thaelina is stood at the woman’s side. “I introduce Queen Gwenhyfar Lossbroch, Maiden of the Northern Lakes, Keeper of the Oaken Throne of Albaines,” she speaks in Prashian, still, as she raises her hand to gesture towards Saria and Reis. “Your majesty, if I may introduce her highness Princess Alfreisel Irfigta Thorfreija, Overseer of the Five Hundred Fjords, Mistress of the Bow of Freija, and Successor to the Stone Throne of Petea. Accompanying her is Saria.”

Reis releases Saria and sweeps into a bow, perhaps to hide her embarrassment at the long list of titles compared to Saria’s complete lack of even a family name. Saria, meanwhile, curtsies as she always did whenever King Obion came by the Library. 

“Please, Princess Alfreisel, you needn’t bow before someone of your own class,” the queen’s voice is soft and hushed, and Saria finds she immediately likes it. Even if it is weird to hear someone address Reis as _ princess _, especially in Prashian. “And do rise yourself, Saria. I hear you have come a long way.”

“A _ really _ long way, ma’am,” Reis says as she straightens. “Especially Saria, she’s made it all the way here from Alexra.”

“Yes, I had heard of the fall,” she says, with a look of genuine sadness. “It must have been a terrible thing to witness. It relieves me that you made it here safely. Though, not without help it seems. You have good taste in companions - a medicine woman and a changeling, am I right?” she looks towards Edana and Lock.

“Why, yes, how did you know?” Lock expresses surprise that he was called out for his nature. 

“I grew up around the mystic lakes of the north, hence my title. There were many ondines there, once. I learned the feel of the air around them,” she gives him a small smile. “And that they make good friends, if you know not to try and pull the wool over their eyes.”

“I am sure my cousins remember you just as fondly,” Lock returns the smile, and bobs another quick bow. “But we would never have made it here without Edana’s boat.”

“Regretfully, your majesty, we did have to sneak across the border,” Edana lowers her head. “But as you may understand from our gathered party, we didn’t have much choice, lacking papers.”

“I’ll forgive it. Were that I could oversee every extenuating circumstance of the unfortunate trying to enter the country, but alas, I am only one woman,” she sighs. Saria can see the tiredness in her, and it reminds her of Nimué, just as weary of the world and its troubles but even more concentrated and heavy on a human woman. “But come now, do take a seat, after such a long journey you must be tired.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Reis says, flopping back on a chair and wincing, because it’s made of wood, with no cushions to adorn it. Saria sits down a little more gently, and Lock helps Edana find a chair by subtly pulling her walking stick in a particular direction. Once everyone is seated, Thaelina leans down to Gwenhyfar’s ear, and says something softly, which the queen nods to, before Thaelina swiftly exits the room with a wave and a smile. “Where’s she going?”

“To wrangle the nobles to give us a few more moments privacy. I haven’t had much time to myself in the recent weeks,” Gwenhyfar sighs.

“Our apologies, we could go if you want some time alone…” Lock speaks up, but Gwenhyfar shakes her head. 

“Fresh company is much better than being alone with my thoughts. At least _ you _ won’t constantly demand to see Orlon from me.”

“Well… actually…” Reis says with a sheepish smile. “We _ do _ need to see Orlon, um, pretty badly in fact. It’s what we traveled all this way for. Not that we aren’t happy to meet you as well, your majesty, you’re wonderful to see…” 

Gwenhyfar looks puzzled. “Well… you’re going to be disappointed, Alfreisel…”

“Please, just Reis, the whole name is a mouthful.”

“Reis… I tell you this in confidence,” the queen leans forward in her seat, causing everyone else to subtly do so as well. “Mostly because I am fairly certain you’re not after the Oaken Throne.”

“Your castle is lovely, but I prefer the open skies,” Reis jokes, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy air. 

“... Orlon is missing. No-one has seen him for several weeks. He vanished the moment the king died, and I suspect that foul play is afoot. It would not to be unheard of for the enemies of a king to take out his Mohra at the same time as him,” Gwenhyfar says gravely, her eyes scanning the group and eventually landing on Saria.

“You… speak as though you don’t think the king died of natural causes,” Saria manages to say, though quietly. 

“Ulther was not a sickly man,” Gwenhyfar replies. “He overworked himself, certainly, but he was always surrounded by people who could and would tell him when to quit, including myself. For him to become ill overnight, worsen the next day, and be dead by the third, is not natural. But,” she sits back. “I have no proof. His body is markless, there is no presence of cursed magic, nor were there any unusual visitors to the castle at the time. I can’t fling accusations around… and so, I mourn alone.”

“Your majesty,” Edana speaks up. “If I may ask, have you had a medicine woman have a look at him?”

Gwenhyfar nods. “Yes, in fact, I called for the woman I assume is your mother, if only because of your resemblance to her.” 

Lock’s fists clench. “The woman is unpleasant and unstable. Perhaps you should get a second opinion.”

“Or, maybe try a Mohra?” Edana cuts in before Lock can disparage her mother further (though Saria thinks he is quite right to do so). “They can detect magics, both helpful and malicious, that many humans cannot.”

“Well without Orlon, that wasn’t an option…” Gwenhyfar says, then trails off and looks at Saria, then at Reis. “But of course, with Reis’ permission, I would be delighted to have the help.”

“Eh, what, me?” Reis blinks, confused, pointing at herself. “Why would you ask me? I’m not a Mohra.”

“No, I know, I mean would you allow me to use your Mohra’s services. It would be terribly presumptuous of me to ask anything of a Mohra without talking to their Candidate first.”

“... um, I’ve, uh, not been selected as a Candidate. Last Mohra I met was Petea’s Oria, and she’d picked my dad, not me. Last time I saw her I was like, five, and then Petea fell. So...”

A silence falls over the room. Everyone is staring at Reis. 

“... you’re kidding, right?” Edana says flatly, turning to nudge Lock. “She’s kidding, isn’t she, she has a big old grin on her face right now, I bet.”

“I often do not understand Reis’ humour,” he admits. “But, this is really beginning to push my limits. She seems confused.”

“Well so am I,” chimes in Gwenhyfar. “I was wondering why you wanted to meet Orlon so badly when you already have a Mohra with you.”

The total quiet comes back, and this time the eyes are all on Saria, including Reis’. Shrinking under their gaze, Saria feels all her thoughts suddenly slow down to one, repeating over and over, until it eventually comes out of her mouth. “What are you talking about?”

“This is absurd. You don’t mean to tell me that you don’t…” Gwenhyfar frowns at Saria in concern. “... Saria, you are a Mohra.”

“Aahahahahaha, what? No she’s not, haha, Mohra have wings!” Reis laughs, in an almost panicked way, looking around everyone in the room and then at Saria. She even moves and pats Saria’s back pointedly. “See? Nothing there!”

“They have wings when they want them there,” Gwenhyfar explains gently. “They can be summoned or vanished, otherwise they get in the way. Usually they appear while the Mohra is using magic or confirming a Candidate, though Orlon sometimes had them out when he wanted to appear more intimidating or formal. Other than that, they are detectable by their auras, or by their ability to sense the characters of other people, or keen magic sense in general.”

Reis’ mouth is wide open. Edana has put her face in her hands, with Lock staring at the ceiling in apparent exhaustion. Saria suddenly can’t make sense of what is happening. What? _ What? _

“WHAT?!” Reis explodes, jumping out of her seat. “Saria you never _ told _ me you were a Mohra!”

“I’m not!” Saria yelps in reply, putting her hands up like she’s being accused of a crime. “I’m just a Librarian! No, not even that! I’m just an orphan who _ lived _ in the library, by the grace of his majesty King Obion! I’m nobody!”

“Saria, you glow like the sun,” Edana says with some exasperation, opening her pearly white eyes. “It’s like you’re trying to dull yourself but it’s not working, you’re the brightest person here, I can even _ see _ the faint outline of wings on you, when you turn your back to me. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“My mother similarly saw you for what you were,” Lock adds. “Indeed it was likely your presence that briefly woke her from her slumber. A Mohra is a balancing force for the world, especially for the magical creatures affected by the discord in the maen.”

“That Reis never noticed can be waved away as a part of her personality,” Edana gestures towards her, but Reis is still standing there with her mouth open, staring at Saria, and thus is not about to respond to the insult. Edana seems disappointed for a moment, before continuing. “But Saria, I can’t believe you never knew! It’s obvious to anyone who’s ever seen a Mohra. Didn’t you say you grew up in the _ Royal _ Library? Wouldn’t the king say something?”

“King Obion _ was _ rather infamous for ruling for so long without a Mohra…” Gwenhyfar murmurs, looking contemplative. “Or… perhaps he was just smart enough, in these times, not to _ tell _ anyone he had a Mohra.”

“Saria would remember making him her Candidate, right?” Edana rubs her chin in thought at this puzzle. “And she has no idea about that, from the look on her face.”

“But that makes no sense. Why keep a Mohra in your library, even after she’s well past the age where she could in full conscience and capability choose a Candidate, without having her, well, pick you or one of your family? Even more so, why keep her in the dark about herself…” the queen trails off, her curious gaze settling on Saria again. “... are you alright? Saria?”

What a question. Is she alright? She has no idea. She doesn’t know who or what she is, and everyone’s looking at her, and the room is suddenly much too hot and the walls too thick and close. Someone’s hands steady her, and for a moment she sees Reis’ worried look and feels a little better, but it’s quickly smothered by the overwhelming feeling of horror. Is even _ this _ just because she’s a Mohra?

She pushes Reis away, and bolts.

\----

By the time the blind panic leaves her, she’s well and truly lost. Fear gave her legs speed they wouldn’t usually have, as she ran through the halls of the castle without paying attention to where they took her. She encountered surprisingly few people - perhaps they’re all busy in meetings or other pursuits, she doesn’t really know what people do in palaces and castles besides rule. 

A Mohra would know. A Mohra would spend their all the time by the side of their selected ruler, overseeing what they do and advising them. A Mohra would be well educated in palace life on inside and out, so as to be certain that the world doesn’t go astray.

How could she _ possibly _ be a Mohra? 

Her wandering brings her to a small courtyard, where a garden has sprouted. A modest fountain in the centre provides a ledge for her to perch on, as she kicks her boots off and digs her toes into the grass and wildflowers at her feet. The earth here is cold and damp, and the plants more hardy than the delicate things in Alexra’s always-warm gardens. Even the sunlight that barely crests the roof of the building all around her provides very little heat, but she doesn’t care. She sticks one hand in the fountain’s water, allowing the chill to calm her still-racing heart. 

“It’s a pleasant place, isn’t it?” says a reedy, worn old voice. Saria looks up to the edge of the garden, near the door where she came in. It’s an old man, leaning heavily on a cane, clad in black robes and with a long, white beard. He shuffles a little further in. “I like to come here, sometimes, when all the dramatics of nobles get a little too much. Would you mind if I joined you?”

Saria shakes her head, and moves up on the fountain. The old man grunts as he moves to sit down, the effort on his tired joints apparent in the wince he gives. She feels like she should say something, but after all the running and the panic, she can’t even find the energy to work up her bravery. But the old man doesn’t ask anything of her either. He just sits there in silence, enjoying the bubbling of the fountain, and the faint swaying of the grass in the wind. After a while, Saria isn’t sure how long, a little sparrow flutters down to perch on the side of the fountain, taking a little drink. The old man doesn’t move a muscle, and the bird hops off the fountain to perch on his cane.

“Oh, hello little one,” he chuckles softly, and the bird doesn’t fly off. “I do have a fondness for the little birds we see every day. It’s easy to forget how vital even a sparrow is to the world.” After regarding him for a few more moments, the sparrow flutters away. “Ah, but who minds the rambles of an old scholar. You seem troubled, miss. A silver piece for your thoughts?”

After taking further time to calm down, Saria finds her tongue has freed itself. “... I just found out… I’m not who I thought I was. I thought I had a path, a role I understood, but now it’s all…” she gestures helplessly. “And I don’t know what to do or where to go from here.”

The old man nods as he listens to her. “That does sound quite upsetting. Forgive me, my dear, are you a Mohra?”

Saria feels her stomach clench again. “Is it obvious to _ everyone _ but me?”

“Goodness, if _ that’s _ what you only just found out now, no wonder you’re so…” he mimics her earlier gesture. “That would be enough to throw anyone for a loop. I know the look of the Mohra well, though it’s been a long time since I saw one so young. I wouldn’t say it’s _ obvious _, your glasses hide your golden eyes well, and you hardly carry yourself with the stature of most castle-raised Mohra, but in your aura… well, there’s no mistaking it.”

“... Castle-raised Mohra?” she asks weakly.

“Indeed. Most Mohra are born and raised in castles, much like royalty, but with a different role. Some might say, a more important, and more restrictive role,” he tilts his head back to look up at the sky. “When the gods bestowed the Mohra upon the world to guide the people, I doubt they expected the humans to so thoroughly game their system to their own advantage.”

“How… did they do that?”

“Well my dear, what do you know about Candidate selection?”

“Nothing, really. Just that it happens.”

The old man nods, and looks at her. “Mohra are intricately connected to the gaia-maen, and even beyond that, to the world of the gods. In that way, they can sense the intentions, and even to an extent, the destiny of any particular person. In a well-adjusted Mohra, this leads to confidence in their ability to pick and choose who to trust. In a Mohra who is not so well looked after, being constantly aware of the intent of everyone around them can cause a great deal of anxiety, as they second-guess themselves and are told to put their assumptions aside, because they must surely be baseless or wrong. Do you follow?”

Saria finds herself nodding, rapidly. All her life, her constant unnerved state around anyone new or strange, never knowing if their very presence is going to revolt her or not, has been a constant source of stress. Being told to just dismiss it or calm down never made it actually go _ away _. She’d learned to shove it down or to escape the scene, or even just avoid any situation where she’d meet anyone, if possible. But then… 

“... Are all a Mohra’s feelings to do with their environment? Who they’re around?”

“Oh no, certainly not,” the old man chuckles slightly. “Mohra are people too; they get angry, happy, sad, scared, fall in love, fall in hate, all the same ways humans do. Your feelings are still your feelings. Once you’ve spent more time thinking about it, you’ll be able to separate out what things you feel because of your Mohra senses, and what you feel from yourself. It can certainly be tricky at first, though.”

That’s… an enormous relief to Saria, she realises with a sigh. So it’s not like she isn’t still herself. Like she doesn’t still feel and think like a person…

“... _ how _ do you know when you find a good Candidate? And what do you do when you do?” she asks, since he seems to know a lot. A scholar this old probably would.

“When you have chosen a Candidate, you needn’t actually do much. Simply inform them they have been chosen by you, make a gesture of your devotion, and then stay by their side. As for finding a good one… the tired old answer is that you simply _ know _when you have the right person. There is a spark, a moment almost like falling in love - and indeed, many Mohra in history have fallen for their Candidate, though that’s ill advised.”

“Why?” Saria blurts out, before covering her mouth. 

The old man smiles at her, with a tinge of sadness. “Because, even if you were to try and have children with that Candidate, a Mohra cannot inherit a throne, not even as a queen or prince consort. Thus, they cannot bear a ruler’s children legitimately. And, rulers like to have successors that can actually succeed them.”

Oh, well, that makes sense… until it doesn’t. Saria frowns. “If Mohra are the ones tasked with selecting rulers, why does royalty run in families? You have a king, then the king’s child becomes the next monarch, and so on. Wouldn’t a Mohra just pick someone else from outside the family?”

A few moments of silence pass as the old man looks at her. “Do you think humans, once given power, are so happy to relinquish it as that?” he says softly. When Saria has no answer, he continues. “As I said before, they game the system. They know that a Mohra can only choose from the people that Mohra meets. And so, a once righteous king may choose to only let their Mohra meet people that king deems appropriate. His own children, and no-one else. From there, the Mohra has to make the best of what they are presented with.”

“But… that’s…” 

“Against the whole point? A recipe for corruption? Indeed. There are tales of countries where Mohra are kept in chains, in small rooms where they will never see anyone but who the ruling powers permit. Mohra who are born and bred to choose a Candidate without actually having any choice in the matter at all. Twisted, is it not?” 

“It… is. That’s awful.”

“Quite. I’m very glad that hasn’t happened to you, Saria.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Well, there was this young lady with short blonde hair running through the halls yelling that name out, so I guessed. She seemed in quite a panic herself.”

“Reis!” Saria yelps, standing up quickly. “I- um, thank you for talking to me, but I should get back. I’ve worried her and that’s not fair.”

He gives her a good natured smile from behind his long, thick beard. It makes the wrinkles around his eyes crease up. “Take care, dear. And good luck.”

Saria begins hurrying towards the door, before stopping and turning around. “Sir, I never heard your name--...”

There is no-one else in the garden, and she stands by the only door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Saria. At least Gwen is nice about breaking the news.
> 
> There might be a small gap of around a week before the next update - my work schedule is very full-on!


	11. Chapter 11

Reis finds Saria before Saria finds Reis, running through the barren halls and pulling her into a tight hug, before suddenly thinking better of it and releasing her. “Sorry! Sorry, was that too much? Shit, everything has got to be too much right now, right? What… what the hell, haha, yeah? Yeah…” Reis trails off awkwardly into silence. Saria, meanwhile, finds that it’s not that she _ can’t _ speak, but more that she doesn’t want to. There’s too much that she hasn’t figured out how to express, but after that talk, she doesn’t feel in such a rush to do so. After standing there in silence for a while, Lock and Edana catch up with them.

“Are you alright, Saria?” Lock asks, gently as he can. “My sincere apologies for being so blunt earlier. I truly didn’t know you were unaware.”

“I mean it _ is _ almost comical,” Edana chips in. “That a princess and a Mohra were traveling together for this long without knowing anything about each other’s status. You got any big reveals for us, Lock?”

Lock shakes his head, his long dark hair flopping over his shoulders. “Sadly, no. My mother did indeed investigate who my birth parents could be, and they were merely peasants who could not afford to feed another child. So they attempted to drown me, which is how I came to live with the ondines.”

“Yikes,” Edana turns back to Saria and Reis, not able to look at them but somehow still seeming to observe the awkward way the two stand next to each other. “So, what now? Orlon isn’t around, and that’s a shame, if anyone could tell you how to do the Mohra thing it would be the guy who’s picked three very successful candidates in his life. Most Mohra only pick one.”

Saria glances at Reis, and thinks about what the old scholar said, about distinguishing Mohra feelings from personal feelings. She wants to believe that she likes Reis sincerely, just because she’s likeable and friendly and kind, but… can she be sure yet?

“Princess Alfreisel,” comes the voice of Thaelina, approaching down the hall. “Apologies, the queen has had to return to her duties handling the court. However, she has instructed me to ensure you and your companions have rooms within the palace to stay, and an invitation to dinner tonight.”

Reis straightens. “Oh- that’s- uh- we’re already staying at an inn nearby…”

Thaelina is already shaking her head. “<Your highness, I really cannot bear to see you go. Especially after that announcement on the bridge, word will have spread of your presence in the city,>” she speaks in Petean, and gives Reis a meaningful look. “<And for all its pristine reputation, Avalon is no utopia. There could be enemies looking to make a name or themselves, by harming the last of the Stone Throne of Petea.>”

She’s right, and Reis clearly hates it, grimacing and putting a hand to her head. “<Me and my big mouth.> Alright, alright, we’ll stay. But please, don’t go too crazy with the theatrics and grandeur? It’d give me whiplash after living rough for so long.”

“As you wish,” Thaelina sweeps another of those strange bows, where she raises her arms up and shakes her long sleeves down to bare them, and then leaves. Lock watches her go.

“A curious pose. Why does she do that?”

Reis rubs the back of her neck. “It’s a traditional bow. Petea wasn’t perfect, there was a lot of, y’know, political intrigue, backstabbing, etc. It became custom to raise up your hands and bare your forearms to prove you weren’t hiding a dagger up your sleeve or something. Mostly from people of lower status to people of higher. I don’t…” she grimaces again. “I don’t really like people treating me like royalty. I’ve never learned how to do royal stuff, beyond speeches like on the bridge, and stuff like that just reminds me that people are out for my head all the time. I dunno how I would have lived in big stone halls like this one, it feels suffocating.” 

Perhaps it’s mean to think it, but Saria feels the weight in her stomach lift a little at the thought of Reis being just as uncomfortable and out of her depth with her titles as Saria is with her own. 

“Saria, you _ are _ still there, right?” Edana looks to her again. “I mean you’re dazzling me but you haven’t said a word, so maybe it’s just an afterimage.”

“I’m here,” Saria mumbles, looking down at her feet. Oh, she never put her boots back on. The cold wooden floors chill her feet. “... I found a nice garden. Maybe we can go sit there.”

“Awesome, I need to see some sky,” Reis says eagerly. Without comment, she takes Saria’s hand in hers. “Lead the way.”

Reis’ hand is warm, with hardened calluses from years of archery. It’s familiar, now, and comforting. Saria leads them back to the garden, and sits for a while around the fountain enjoying a moment’s rest (and regains her boots as well). But, her brain doesn’t slow down one bit. It rarely ever does, and after spending all the time up until now on the road, she hasn't had much chance to sit and really ruminate on things that have happened so far. There are pieces of a greater puzzle here, one she’s too close to see the full image of. The parts are there, mostly, but assembling them will take more time.

_Ilra Ka. The burning of prosperous, peaceful Alexra. Hindshokhan. The sudden death of healthy King Ulthur. The imbalance of the gaia maen. Red’s unnatural presence. The fading of magic. That terrifying black cloud she and Reis saw as they left the camp. Even her status as a Mohra who was hidden away and never allowed to know what she was. _

There’s something big going on here. She knows it, like beginning to unravel one of the mysteries in a novel, or a theory in an academic essay. She just needs a little more thought to figure it out.

  
  


\----

Compared to the homely little rooms of the Oaken Man Inn, or sleeping it rough on the road, or even her little attic space back in the Library, the guest rooms of the castle are almost obnoxiously comfortable. The fires are somehow lit before they even arrive, the sheets are fresh and the beds softer than a cloud, and there are even baths that have been prepared for them in the next room over.

Lock looks a little perplexed at the concept of bathing in _ hot _ water, when cold suffices just fine, but is quickly won over to the concept after trying it out. They are then offered some new clothes to change into, though it’s a struggle to find anything that fits Lock’s impressive stature, and Reis immediately turns down the offer of a dress, begging for some trousers instead. Saria is fascinated briefly by the embroidery on the offered clothing, the long sleeves almost reaching the floor, and the colours standing out brightly against the drab walls of the building. Perhaps it’s only so dull inside the castle because it’s the mourning period - if the place were decorated with such bright weaves as this, it would be much more tolerable.

“Aren’t we going to be the only one wearing colours?” Edana points out, having not changed out of her perfectly clean Medicine Woman uniform. She considers it a higher honour to wear than the noble attire. “Everyone else is going to be in black and grey. We’re going to stand out.”

Reis admires herself in a mirror, now with some new cream coloured trousers and tall leather boots, plus a new poncho to boot, given by Thaelina. From the looks of how fancy the weaving on it is, it’s some sort of heirloom from Petea. Reis keeps stroking it. “Eh, we’re not gonna wander around the place that much anyway. Hey, do you think those folks that were sent to your sister’s place to help out in our stead are gonna be any good?”

“They’re from the castle, of _ course _ they’ll be good. I’m just hoping Elana has the good sense to not let them investigate what I have brewing in the basement,” Edana grimaces. 

“And if they do?” Lock asks, fiddling with a clasp to fasten a formal cloak around his shoulders. 

“Then we’ll be immediately suspected of treason, probably!” Edana chirps brightly with a forced smile. “Kinda suspicious for us to turn up with a deadly poison when the kingdom’s in such a precarious position, isn’t it?”

“Well then we’ll just explain it was that weird Red kid,” Reis handwaves it off, before going and helping Lock with the clasp, as he mutters his thanks. “Listen, we should just be glad we don’t have to work our butts off tonight! We can just relax, and—”

There’s a knock at the door. Lock goes to answer it, and Thaelina steps through. “Your highness,” she greets with a smile. “Dinner is in 10 minutes, if you would like to accompany me to the banquet hall.”

Reis blinks. “To the… what?”

“The banquet hall? Ah, <the banquet hall,>” she tries to helpfully translate it into Petean, but Reis just shakes her head.

“I thought we were going to eat up here?”

Thaelina blinks rapidly. “Oh goodness no, we wouldn’t do that to you, hide you away like some dreadful secret! It’s an honour to have you as a guest here, so of course we have set a place for you and your party at the banquet table. I believe you’re even seated next to her majesty the queen!”

“Ahah,” Edana snaps her fingers with a grin. “We’re a buffer zone between her and the nobles who keep bothering her, aren’t we.”

Thaelina smiles back. “Your Medicine Woman is very astute.”

Reis is still grimacing, and looks to Saria as though asking for help. It’s not like _ she _ wants to go to a fancy dinner either. She’s been to exactly one of those and it was intolerable since she had to sit next to Midias the whole time, even if the food was good. But in that case, she sympathises deeply with Gwenhyfar, who probably just wants to eat her meal in peace without being bothered by people clamouring for her dead husband’s throne. In the end, that feeling wins over her anxiety, and she gives Reis a helpless shrug. “Poor Queen Gwenhyfar…”

“Aaaargh…” Reis groans. “Alright, alright! We’ll go! This is going to involve pain-in-the-ass manners and fancy forks and stuff though, I’m warning you!”

Thaelina leads them all downstairs, and it’s a good thing she came to get them, because it’s an absolute _ maze _ in this place. Saria knows from her reading that castles are often built like this for defensive reasons, making it difficult for an enemy to move through without it being intuitive to know which way to go. The spiral staircases twist in a way that makes it hard for a right-handed swordsman to swing, and there are sudden steps down or up into rooms where you might not expect them. Even the floorboards squeak loudly on purpose in certain places, though Thaelina knows them well enough that she glides along the floor without a sound. 

The doors of the great banquet hall creak slightly when they open, tall and imposing and requiring a heavy-set guard on each side to push them. The high ceiling is strung with chandeliers, which cast a soft yellow candlelight over the room in place of the sunlight that would usually be streaming in through the tall, stained glass windows. The table, easily the longest that Saria has ever seen, is bedecked with plates of food stacked high - whole roasted chickens and ducks and geese, carrots and parsnips and brussel sprouts, leeks and cabbage, stuffed mushrooms and more - and more candelabras besides. The smell immediately makes her mouth begin to water, but the nervous drying effect of seeing the dozens upon dozens of finely dressed nobles sat on either side of the table balances it out. They all turn to look at the new arrivals, and Thaelina steps forward with a prim ‘a-hem’.

“<Noblefolk of the court of Albaines, may I present Princess Alfreisel Irfigta Thorfreija, Overseer of the Five Hundred Fjords, Mistress of the Bow of Freija, and Successor to the Stone Throne of Petea,>” she announces, her voice ringing through the dead silence in the hall. Reis seems to be fighting the urge to wave nervously. “<Attending with her are her retainers, Sir Lock Nimuéson, Medicine Woman Edana Brillia, and Saria the Mohra.>”

_ Now _ the muttering starts, all eyes falling on Saria, who nearly bolts again until Reis takes her hand. “ _ Don’t leave me here with these people, _” she whispers lowly. Not wanting to be alone either, Saria uses this, and Reis’ warm hand, to bolster her courage.

“Should I tell her I am not actually knighted,” Lock also murmurs. “I feel uncomfortable with this falsehood.”

“Just go with it,” Edana is smiling politely for their audience. “It’d take too much time to explain and it’s all the same for them anyway.”

“Dear guests, please follow me to your seats,” Thaelina says, completely unruffled by the muttering of the nobility. Likely she’s used to it, from the way she glides past with her nose in the air, paying their stares and glares absolutely no heed. 

As they suspected, they’ve all been seated on either side of Queen Gwenhyfar - Edana and Lock to her right, and Saria and Reis to her left. Saria feels glad to be sandwiched in between Reis and Gwenhyfar, especially because the nobles who would otherwise be sat the closest are giving them the most hateful looks. She’s not sure if she’s more uncomfortable with that, or with the fact their anger turns to curiosity and _ hunger _ when they look at her in particular.

Once they’re all sat down, Gwenhyfar taps her goblet with her fork, making it ring like a chime and silence the muttering. She smiles diplomatically at them all. “<Thank you all for coming tonight. I’m sure when I told you I had a sudden surprise for you all this evening, you were hoping for Orlon. Sadly, he has yet to appear again->”

“<And whose fault is _ that _ ,>” whispers a noblewoman next to Lock just a _ little _ too loud. Lock gives her a side-eyed glower, and she closes her mouth.

Gwenhyfar continues undeterred. “<Instead, we have had another miracle. Our longstanding allies, the Peteans, have long been thought to have been dispersed to the winds, and their royal family lost forever. But it seems they were quite wisely in hiding for the 15 years since its annexation by Hindshokhan. Princess Alfreisel has returned to the public light in good health, and that is something to celebrate in amongst all this misery. She will be my guest in the castle, along with her retainers, as she tries to catch up on the steps in this never ending political dance that she may have missed during her travels. In the meantime, please treat her cordially, as one would only expect from Albainese hospitality.>”

The nobles do not look very hospitable. That is, except for one woman, in her middle years but still with long reddish-blonde hair, who raises her goblet. “<I propose a toast, your majesty, to this good fortune,>” her voice is high and twittery, and reminds Saria of nightingales. 

Gwenhyfar seems surprised by this gesture, but raises her own goblet. “<Indeed, Lady Dufey. A toast,>” she turns to smile at Reis. “<To Princess Alfreisel and her companions. Long live Petea.>”

The court at once all raise their goblets, some with wine sloshing out. “<_ Long live Petea!> _ ” they chorus, though the enthusiasm is muted in some places. Saria steals another glance at Lady Dufey, and finds the woman looking directly at her. It makes her skin crawl, and she looks down at the table again. Is this because…? No, Mohra or not, how would she ever be able to tell bad intent or not in this room that’s _ flooded _ with the sense that they’re not wanted here. Sifting out where any particular feeling is coming from would be impossible like this. It’s already overwhelming, but Reis’ hand under the table keeps her grounded. 

“<Now, let us eat,>” Gwenhyfar announces, and no further preamble is needed as the guests begin tucking into the various platters in a clatter of knives and forks. Edana looks a little lost for a moment, but Lock is immediately there, placing a slice of goose onto her plate and loading it up with vegetables as well. She tries not to let it show on her face that she appreciates this, though she does slap his hands away when she gets embarrassed enough. 

Saria helps herself after Reis piles her own plate high with meat and vegetables, but can’t manage to eat much. The suffocating atmosphere in the room dampens her appetite, and she keeps her head down and her eyes on her plate. Gwenhyfar eats in relative peace and quiet, though, thanks to the barrier of visitors around her, so at least they’ve done their job. 

“<Excuse me, your Majesty,>” says a new voice, and Saria risks looking up. A young man in a squire’s outfit has been escorted up next to Gwenhyfar, who is smiling gently at him. He has shoulder length, mousy brown hair, and skin tanned in a way that suggests a life outdoors, if his slightly dusty, road-worn appearance didn’t give the hint already. Despite the overall unsettling feeling in the room, the man is like a ray of sunshine cutting through the fog of it all. His expression, however, speaks of concern. “<My apologies for my late arrival, and that I cannot even stay for dinner. I must set out at dawn again to continue the search for Orlon.>”

“<Wain, please, at least sit and have a little wine, you must be run absolutely ragged,>” Gwenhyfar insists. “<And I pity your poor horse!>”

The man, Wain apparently, gives a chuckle. “<No need, milady, I have a second who has been resting here the past two days. Ah->” he notices the new faces at the table. “<How rude of me, I have not greeted your guests!>”

“Don’t sweat it,” Reis replies, with a grin at him. “We can always budge up and make a little room for you.”

“Oh, are you Prashian? Forgive me, my accent is terrible, I hope I’m understandable.”

“You’re very good,” Saria says quietly, but freely, her words not getting blocked up in her throat like usual. “Please don’t belittle yourself.”

Wain smiles and bows. “Milady Mohra, you honour me. Now were it only that I could find your fellow, Orlon, perhaps I would be able to convince myself to rest a moment beside you.” He straightens again. “But I must take my leave posthaste. The longer Orlon is gone, the more her Majesty’s suffering is prolonged. I do, however, have firm belief he’s out there somewhere. He is simply too wily and powerful to be killed.”

Gwenhyfar makes a few more attempts at convincing Wain, while Saria watches on and tries to absorb more of the warm feeling. It’s like the one she gets from Reis, she thinks, but a little more simplified, a little less of an overwhelming wave and more of a gentle ripple. But it’s nice, in the midst of all the unpleasantness, to have a reprieve. With Reis _ and _ Wain nearby, she can almost relax.

At least, that’s what Saria thinks until that feeling of her stomach dropping comes back, and Edana stiffens and gasps, “Oh no.”

The sudden bang of the large doors slamming against the walls, pushed open with force, causes several people to shout in alarm and drop cutlery and goblets. Over half the candles go out on the table and overhead, plunging the room into near darkness with only a few remaining. Lock’s chair scrapes against the stones as he stands up, grabbing a large jug of water from an alarmed server and pulling his sword from it. Reis, who came to dinner unarmed, shifts to block Saria from view of whoever is coming in. 

The clinking of armor comes from the doorway, gleaming softly in the dim light. Saria wonders if all the air went out of the room at once, because from the gasps it’s clear that she’s not the only one having trouble breathing. Several knights step into the room, marching in formation, bearing a banner on a pole - a red background, atop it a pair of black wings with gold outline. The knight at the head of the group stops and holds his hand up, causing the rest to pause. With a swift move, he removes his helmet, revealing scruffy, short blonde hair, and a young face smiling cockily. It’s the boy from the riverside, Red.

“<Oh, I’m sorry, am I a little past fashionably late?>” he asks cheerfully. 

Gwenhyfar stands up from her chair. “<You fly the Dufey banner. What is the meaning of this, Lady Dufey?<”

“<I assure you, your majesty, my son’s behaviour comes as a complete shock to me as well. Redmund, what on earth do you think you’re doing?>” the woman’s high voice only becomes more shrill with her outrage.

Red makes his expression as innocent as possible, but he’s fooling no-one. “<But mother, you said if Orlon was found that we should make way to the castle posthaste!>”

Disbelieving gasps go up around the table, more people standing from their chairs, moving towards the group of knights, making demands for proof, to see Orlon. Red and the knights are unmoved. It’s as though they don’t even notice the nobility there, or aren’t important enough to acknowledge. Red moves through them like they’re mere smoke and fog, walking the length of the table towards Gwenhyfar. Before he gets to her side, Wain and Lock block his path. He smirks up at both of them.

“<Oh? Don’t you wave your sword at a _ real _ knight, squire. If I were a nastier guy I could cut your hand off for that. And just who are _you_ sworn to, fish-knight? That isn’t your queen to protect.>”

“<Regardless, you are making people uncomfortable,>” Lock replies evenly, staring him in the eye. “<If you have something to say to her majesty, you may say it from here. You are well within earshot.>”

Red shrugs, and his armor clatters as he does so. “<It’s not really something to _ say _ , it’s more something to _ show.>_”

“<Then show it,>” Gwenhyfar says gravely, as though she already knows what it is.

This time, Red removes his gauntlet covering his right hand. The bare skin is pale, and it makes the mark on it stand out all the brighter. A bright red brand like a tattoo, snaking its way around from his palm to the back of his hand, a pattern like oak leaves and branches entwining with Red’s fingers. Saria blinks multiple times, because she could have sworn she saw it move like in a breeze. And what’s more, power positively _ thrums _ from it, steady like a heartbeat, a feeling bizarrely familiar even though she’s sure she’s never felt it before.

“<No…>” Gwenhyfar whispers, voice low and disbelieving. “<It can’t be…>”

“<I assure you, it’s the real thing,>” Red says with his smirk widening. “<Touch it, if you like. This is no glamour or trickery. You could even ask that Mohra standing there,>” he gestures at Saria, who flinches back. “<Surely she’d recognise a Mark of Candidacy when she saw one.>”

“<My son,>” Lady Dufey steps closer, eyes widened in awe, taking Red’s face in her hands. “<My son, oh my wonderful son! He recognised you for who you are!>”

“<Mother…>” Red says, and his expression softens for a moment. “<You were right. All the hard work… was worth it after all.>”

This is wrong. This is all so _ wrong _. Saria feels like she’s going to throw up. It seems she’s not the only one, as Gwenhyfar turns away from the scene with her hands balled up into fists, open grief on her face. How… how could Orlon make this choice? And more over…

“Where is he?” 

The words escape her mouth without her permission, and immediately attract attention back to her. She freezes up under Red’s gaze, but Reis squeezes her hand and speaks up louder. 

“Yeah, if you found Orlon, where is he?”

Red inclines his head. “That’s right, you _ were _ hoping to speak to him, weren’t you? Well I wouldn’t be a very good king if I didn’t try to curry favour with a neighbouring kingdom’s princess, even if the kingdom fell a decade and a half ago.”

Reis opens her mouth to protest that comment, but is struck silent by the sudden wave of power through the room. Edana staggers and covers her eyes like she’s been blinded anew, and Saria feels a lurch in the pit of her stomach like she missed a step on the stairs. Red is holding his marked hand aloft, and power crackles like electricity around it.

“<I summon thee forth, _ Orlon _!>” 

With a bang and a rush of air that extinguishes the remaining candles, the room goes dark, causing the nobility to scream and shuffle about in a panic. Just as fast as they went out, however, they all light again, brightening the room so fast Saria has to blink several times to get used to it. When she focuses her eyes again, there is an old man in black robes, with a long beard and a walking stick, standing next to Red.

“You-!” she gasps. The old man from the courtyard! How had she never realised it was him?

“Oh? Well if it isn’t the young Mohra girl from earlier,” the old scholar greets her with a friendly smile. She realises that, unlike everyone around her, she doesn’t feel anything negative _ or _ positive from him. He raises an eyebrow. “Trying to detect my intent? You’re a fast scholar, for someone who only learned she could do that a few hours ago. Mohra cannot sense each others intent. That power does not work on our own kind.”

“Orlon!” Gwenhyfar interrupts, stepping forward. “Where have you _ been_, we’ve been worried sick!”

Orlon gives her a sympathetic nod. “My sincere apologies, Lady Gwenhyfar, but I was doing as my prior Candidate asked of me.”

“What he… asked of you?” Wain echoes, a confused pinch to his brow.

“Indeed,” Orlon turns and raises his voice so the whole room can hear, switching to Albainese. “<On his Majesty King Ulther’s deathbed, he bid me to leave the castle and search out his heir myself. As you are all aware, his marriage with Lady Gwenhyfar could tragically bear no children. But that did not mean that Ulther’s line had ended!>”

The murmurs return, shocked and scandalised. Orlon raises his hand to try and calm them.

“<I know this is unorthodox. You all came here expecting to bring yourselves or your children to be selected for Candidacy. But, it is the right of the king’s family to be examined first, by our laws. And the king,>” he places a hand on Red’s shoulder. “<Had a son after all.>”

This time the cacophony that arises from the nobility cannot be quieted by a mere wave of Orlon’s hand. The questions are screamed, shouted, hollered, yelled, the crowd surges forward, pointing accusing fingers at Lady Dufey, at Red, and at Orlon. They do not get far, however, before they come up against some sort of invisible barrier, hammering their fists against it. Some even pick up discarded cutlery and attempt to stab at the barrier in their fury. The anger from being kept waiting for so long, for nothing, bubbles up and overflows into the room, thick enough to choke on. Reis’ hand is not enough. Saria starts to back away.

“Milady Mohra has the right idea,” Wain shouts over the chaos, taking Gwenhyfar by the hand and pulling her away, as she’s gone completely stock still with her mouth hanging open. “We should retreat and let them argue it out!”

“Agreed,” says Lock, putting Edana’s hand on his free arm so she can also be lead out, while keeping his sword aloft just in case. “Is there a place where we may lock ourselves in?”

“I know one!” shouts Thaelina. Suddenly, Gwenhyfar’s legs go out from under her, and Thaelina rushes to catch her. “Your majesty, let’s go!”

“Yes…” Gwenhyfar says faintly, barely audible over the noise. “Let’s… let’s go.”

And the group beat a hasty retreat through the kitchens. 

  
  


\----

The small set of rooms in the west tower of the castle are some of the oldest in the structure, still standing from when it was first built centuries ago. The area is, as such, relegated to servants quarters and storage, and largely isn’t used. It is also riddled with ancient secret passageways and exits and trapdoors. Thaelina expertly navigates them to a small room with a fireplace, which Wain hurries to light. Gwenhyfar sits down heavily on an old chair, putting her face in her hands. Thaelina crouches beside her and rubs her back comfortingly, while Edana drops all pretenses and just sits down on the floor near the fire. Reis sticks near Saria, but the comfort her presence brings is dulled by the overwhelming… _ everything _ that just happened. Although Lock is standing by the door with his sword still manifested, she doesn’t feel all that safe. 

“Gwen…” Thaelina says softly. “Gwen, I’m so sorry…”

“It can’t be true,” Wain asserts as he finally gets the fire going, setting the flint aside. “King Ulthur would never betray you in such a way. From the look of the boy, he’s barely 16, perhaps 18 if I’m generous. That would be five years _ after _ your marriage. It’s impossible.”

“You’re right,” Gwenhyfar whispers. “You’re right, he would never... _ willingly _ do such a thing to me. But that raises an even more awful question of what _ she _ may have done to _ him _. Gods, was he suffering, holding that burden, all this time?”

“If I may, your Majesty,” Edana speaks up. “There is something very not right about that boy, Red. My eyes, though they appear blind, are highly attuned to maen signatures. Anything alive, with maen in it, I can see. But that boy…” she shakes her head. “He doesn’t look like any human I’ve ever seen. There’s so much maen in him it’s overflowing everywhere. It’s a mess, it’s horrifying.”

Thaelina stares at Edana. “Not… human? Is that possible? He looked perfectly normal to me, the mean little smirk aside.”

“Saria senses it too,” Reis speaks up for her, and Saria nods along. “Which means there’s no way that Orlon didn’t know that something’s up with that kid. Maybe he picked him because of that?”

“But it’s definitely not a _ good _ feeling from him, right Saria?” Edana frowns. “Why would a Mohra pick a Candidate who feels so unnatural and, well, _ wrong _ in every way? It doesn’t make a single lick of sense, he has such a reputation for picking good, wise rulers, they called him the Golden Mohra!”

“Maybe he’s being threatened?” Wain suggests. “That he has to pick the boy or… something awful will happen to people he loves?”

“But Orlon is so powerful, a Mohra as long-lived as him would have to be,” Thaelina speaks up again. “Who is so strong as to actually pose a threat to him?”

It all clicks into place. 

The answer is so sudden and clear that it hits Saria like a slap in the face, and comes out of her mouth. “Ilra Ka. Ilra Ka is strong enough.”

“Who?” Wain looks at her blankly. 

“I… they…” she starts, but realises she doesn’t know where to begin. Even though all the pieces she's been gathering and dwelling on for so long have finally slotted themselves together, she realises she has no concrete evidence to show them. She'll have to convince them by talking, but that's hardly her strong point - transmuting her thoughts into spoken words has always been the most difficult thing in the world.

Reis is beside her. Reis has been beside her the whole way, through all the difficult things. Reis is looking at her right now, no judgement, never any judgement for how she hesitates, for her fear. From the very beginning of this awful mess, she’s always been here to support her. It should be the other way, if she understands how Mohra are meant to be with their Candidates. So… does that mean this is a real feeling? The courage and strength and warmth she gets from Reis, they’re all real?

If they’re real, then maybe she can do this.

Saria swings the Book of Mohra off her back, and undoes the sling she always carries it in. Sitting down on one of the chairs, she rests the weight of it in her lap, and runs her fingers over the pearls inlaid on the cover. She takes a deep breath. _Just do it_, she tells herself. _Imagine you're reading from a book, only the book is your own, and the one in your lap is just for show._

She takes a deep breath. 

“Ilra Ka is an unknown entity or group, that works to topple civilisations,” she summarises. No stammer. The words flow like spring water, clear and crisp. The eyes of the people in the room don’t feel heavy when they look at her. “I can only tell you what I’ve been ruminating over internally as we traveled, but let me line up the pieces for you. Hindshokhan exploded from a relatively poor, landlocked nation into a global superpower in the space of a few decades, much faster than any country would usually do without some sort of incredible technological innovation. At the moment of such an innovation - long distance sea travel - coming into being in Prash’s capital, Alexra, the city fell. As we have continued to travel, it’s become increasingly clear that their reach is further than we thought, coming even to Albaines. Which brings me to King Ulthur.”

The book is heavy in her lap but it’s a good kind of heavy, and certainly no worse than the weight she’s getting off her chest after finally expressing her thoughts in words. She has to keep going in case this moment escapes her.

“He’s described by everyone we’ve met as a very healthy man, dedicated to his role as king. So dedicated, I’m willing to assume, that he could not be swayed or corrupted by money or power. Am I correct?” She looks on as Gwenhyfar and Wain nod their agreement, and continues. “As such, Ilra Ka, who work from the shadows, couldn’t use him. They would need someone else they _ could _ influence in his stead. That first means getting rid of King Ulthur. I think that Queen Gwenhyfar’s assessment that her husband was poisoned is a fair one. How and who by, I can’t be sure enough to point fingers yet, but it wasn’t a natural death, it was an assassination.”

Gwen hiccups through tears, but nods, glad to have to suspicions validated. Thaelina pats her back absently, but her attention is trained on Saria. 

“I think, since they couldn’t get to Ulthur, they got instead to Orlon. I don’t know him well enough to know whether they threatened him or bribed him, but either way, they presented him with their puppet king, Redmund Dufey, and told him to select him as a Candidate. Whatever the circumstances, he did just that, and now Albaines has one of Ilra Ka’s pawns about to ascend to the throne. This will only spell the end for the country when Hindshokhan invades - whatever the reason, it’s Ilra Ka’s prerogative to support the quest for Hindshokhani domination.”

“How do you know that?” Thaelina asks.

“Because the same unnatural black cloud that has been following Reis and I since the Prash Highlands - and probably the burning of Alexra, though it was dark and the sky was full of smoke - was also sighted at the fall of the Kingdom of Petea, which was also to Hindshokhani hands. Mark my words, it’s going to show up again here.”

“Then, what do we do?” asks Wain. “It sounds like an overpoweringly large enemy.”

“But one that has only just managed to get its fingers into Albaines,” Edana speaks up, sitting up from her position on the floor. “I have something that Redmund wants. A Draught of True Death. There’s got to be a reason he wants it, and considering he asked me to keep it a secret, that’s something we have over him. He’s not the sharpest tool in the box.”

“So what, we approach him and say ‘we have your Draught, but you have to stop doing what Ilra Ka tells you to do?’” Reis squints at her. “That’s not gonna work.”

“It is either that,” Lock says. “Or we kill him. Which, at our current combat ability level, will be very difficult to do. Despite his age, from how he holds himself I can detect he will be skilled in combat.”

“In any case,” Saria speaks again. “We cannot allow him to take the throne proper. Once the coronation is done, it is legally out of our hands, and we don’t want to play Ilra Ka’s underground game. They’ll be better at it than us.” She sits back in her chair. “The other nobles weren’t happy, were they? If they’re not happy about it, they may be willing to lend us their political sway.”

“And their armies,” Wain chips in, folding his arms. “Each noble house commands a portion of the overall armies of Albaines. If we can get enough bannermen to our faction…”

“This is a civil war you’re talking about,” Thaelina looks distressed by the concept. “Pitting house against house, brother against brother.”

Gwenhyfar takes a deep breath, and wipes her eyes. “If it’s either that, or watching my beautiful country be destroyed by some… awful shadowy force like a tumor spreading through a sick man… then so be it.”

Wain sweeps into a low bow towards Gwenhyfar. “Milady, however this conflict unfolds, you will find me at your side eternally, to my last breath and drop of blood.”

“I pray it will not come to that,” Gwenhyfar says softly. “Raise your head, Wain. No…” she looks around the room, to Lock and his sword. “Sir Lock, may I borrow your sword?”

Wain blinks up at the queen. “Milady?”

Lock approaches, and hands her the sword. “It will have to be quick, it does not last long when out of contact with my body.”

“I will be quick. In fact, I should have done this years ago,” she takes the sword from Lock, handling it carefully. She stands from her seat, and rests the blade on Wain’s right shoulder, switching to that particular kind of Albainese that Saria knows is for formal language only. “<Wain Palamedes, in the name of the Oaken Throne of Albaines, I charge thee to uphold honour, good faith, and chivalry.>” She moves the sword to his left shoulder. “<In the name of the sleeping gods, I bestow upon thee the blessing of the Queen, in order that thou may protect the innocent, the weak, and the vulnerable. Dost thou accept these charges?>”

Wain’s jaw is clenched tight. It seems like he’s trying to reign in his emotions. “<Milady, it would be my greatest honour to accept.>”

“<Thine permission is received,>” she inclines her head, and raises the sword up. “<Rise, Sir Wain of Avalon, Knight of the Oaken Throne!>”

Wain does rise, squaring his shoulders and with reddened cheeks. Reis immediately bursts into applause, along with Edana, and Lock, though he takes his sword back from Gwenhyfar as well. Saria joins in, unable to keep the smile off her face. Wain’s happiness and pride emanates out of him like a warm sunrise after a dark night. 

They’ll need a little bit of light during the coming darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the surprise of probably no-one, the old man was Orlon all along!


	12. Chapter 12

The next day dawns overcast and grey, but this is the most common kind of weather in Albaines. Saria briefly wonders if the people of the country don't get depressed from being under cloud cover for so long - even someone like her, who spends most of her time inside, would end up feeling down if she couldn't even look out of the window at the blue sky. Though perhaps the dim light from above is fitting for the sombre mood. Very few of their gathered group have slept the whole night, and Saria suspects that Lock and Wain and Gwenhyfar haven't slept at all, though in the latter's case it wasn't for lack of trying. 

"Surely by now everyone will have calmed down," Edana says hopefully, mournfully poking at the embers of the fire with the dusty end of her walking stick. "At least enough for us to venture out and make our points."

"I'm worried about allowing Queen Gwenhyfar to wander without an escort," Wain says, standing in exactly the same spot he's stood vigil the entire night. "With no offence meant to Milady Thaelina."

Thaelina shakes her head. "None taken, I'm no skilled warrior like yourself, Wain. Or, _Sir_ Wain, I should say." She gives him a small smile, which he returns bashfully. "Indeed, I don't like the idea of Gwenhyfar going out at all right now. We don't know what it's like out there. Maybe we should send one or two people out to scout the atmosphere?"

"I volunteer," Lock says immediately. "Even if I cannot obtain information from any of the nobles, there may be ondines here and there I can speak to about what they've overheard. Humans often forget to mind what they say in the presence of water."

"If we minded what we said around water all the time, nobody would ever say _anything_," Reis complains. "But whatever, okay, Lock's going, I'll go with--"

"No," Saria says, voice hoarse from all the unusual talking she did last night. Something inside her still buzzes with energy from it, like a stopper pulled from a bottle that now fizzes and overflows. "I'll go with him."

"Saria?" Edana looks gobsmacked at her. "Woah, really, are you okay?"

Saria nods. "I'm fine. I feel pretty good, actually. I think I got a little sleep, at some point. And there's some things I want to ask Orlon, if I can catch him."

"Hm," Gwenhyfar hums thoughtfully. "And the nobility will hesitate to impede a Mohra. They don't know that you have no real knowledge of your own power, which is to our advantage. Plus, they think you have already selected Reis as your candidate, which places you neatly in between 'threatening' by way of inherent magical power, and 'unthreatening' in terms of not being a political menace."

Reis doesn't look convinced, and hovers by where Saria sits. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, Saria. Don't push yourself."

"I _want_ to push myself, though," Saria replies, looking Reis in the eye. Those green eyes, the first thing Saria ever noticed about her. Clear and honest and full of worry. "For once, I want to try. Not because anyone's making me or because I don't have any other choice, but because I _can_."

For a few more moments, Reis hesitates, and then sighs. "Fine. Okay. It's my turn to support from the sidelines."

"Thank you, Reis," Saria smiles for her, standing up and brushing herself off. She wraps the Book of Mohra back up in its swaddling like a baby, and ties it onto her back again. She finds it feels less heavy these days. Maybe she's getting stronger? 

Lock holds the door for her as they exit the room, and find their way out of the servants quarters in the old tower. Maids and cooks and pageboys take considerably wide berths around her and Lock. She can't really blame them, as Lock is imposingly large and still carrying his water sword, though tucked into his belt loop in place of a sheath, and she's an unknown Mohra from a foreign land. 

The more that people like Gwenhyfar and Red talk about the power of Mohra, the more she realises she actually doesn't have a clue what that means. Up until very recently, her only frame of reference for Mohra were their political role in ceremonially selecting leaders. Seeing Red's Mark of Candidacy brings up the fact she has no idea what it does, or how one goes about getting one. Does it just appear when a Mohra selects a Candidate? Or does she have to do something specific? Orlon mentioned she had to 'make a gesture', but what does _that_ mean? And moreover, if a Mohra's only real power is selecting Candidates and sensing intent, why does everyone look at her with genuine wariness like she's an unexploded firework next to an open flame?

Finally, she and Lock find their way back into the main halls of the palace. What a transformation has come over the place in the space of one night - tapestries have reappeared on the walls, rugs are rolled out along the floor, gold and silver decorations have returned to the tables, and all the colourful curtains have been adorned to the windows. It's almost like a different place entirely to the drab monochrome it was before. Lock gazes impassively at the colours of a few new flags that hang from the high ceilings.

"Those are the banner colours that those knights that stormed the hall last night had," he comments. Sure enough, they are the red, black, and gold banners Red's men had. The design of the black bird with gold-lined wings is quite pretty, Saria thinks, so it's a shame that someone like Red would taint its meaning for her. 

"Does that mean they've already accepted him as a ruler...?" Saria wonders aloud. "That's very quick."

"A Mark of Candidacy is not to be underestimated, it seems," Lock replies. "Or perhaps it's Orlon's sway instead. The man clearly held no fear of the nobility when he spoke to them."

"We need to find him," Saria says firmly. 

"But where? We know nothing of the man's habits or haunts."

Habits and haunts. Hmm... that gives her an idea.

"He called himself an 'old scholar' when he first spoke to me," Saria says slowly as the thought forms in her head. "So perhaps we could try the library? Wherever that is in this place."

"I'll ask the water."

"Ask the...?"

Lock walks up to a nearby vase of flowers, and gently lifts the blooms out of it. He then sticks his face into the narrow neck of the vase, and speaks something muffled by the delicate porcelain. Saria has to cover her snort of laughter at the ridiculousness of the gesture, particularly because he has to bend double to do it thanks to his height, but after a few moments he straightens up, replaces the flowers, and turns back to her.

"It is on the first floor, two corridors down and to the left."

Saria tries to school her expression back to a sombre frown like before, so he doesn't think she's laughing at him (though she is). "That's... quite impressive. Are there really ondine in every vase?" 

"Not every vase. I took a chance."

So he could have just stuck his face into a flower pot for nothing. It's getting very hard to contain her laughter at the image, so she turns and starts marching in the described direction before she's overwhelmed. Despite having made it to the main part of the building, the halls are empty of nobles or even servants, so the cavernous sound of her and Lock's footsteps echoing through the abandoned passageways soon serve to kill the good humour in her stomach. First floor, two corridors down and to the left...

They come to a large set of open doors, not quite as grand as the great banquet hall's, but certainly no hole in the wall either. Clearly, at some point in the castle's construction, a builder had made a deliberate point of enshrining the library in a way that a bibliophile would find fitting. Saria takes a moment to breathe in the familiar smell of dust and paper and ink, before stepping across the threshold. It's no Library of Alexra - it's only a sixth of the size at best, and the bookshelves only reach about 3 meters in height, but it holds the same solemnity in its careful organisation of the printed word. Thousands of authors and their works, great and small, are contained here. 

"It's a shame this place isn't open to the public," Saria murmurs, running her hand along one of the shelves. "For a private collection it's really impressive."

"I don't sense Orlon anywhere, though," Lock says, looking around. "It could be that he's hiding his presence, however."

There's a sudden clattering sound from a few aisles down. Lock and Saria share a glance, before moving to inspect the source. They take the cautious route, peering around the corner of a shelf first and foremost. In the light of a tall window, there's a small reading nook, with a couple of desks and an index. From the looks of it, someone was very recently reading here, as there's a book still open on one of the tables, and the chair next to it is on its side, like the person sitting in it previously had gotten up very fast. Lock approaches, and Saria approaches with him, looking first to the book itself while Lock checks the area for danger.

"It's in Albainese..." she murmurs, carefully picking it up to turn it over and read the cover without losing the page. "_Chronic and Incurable Conditions and Ailments, by Mw. Brillia LXVI._ A medical textbook?"

"Written by a relative of Edana's, if the last name is anything indicative," Lock adds. "What does that string of letters mean?" 

"It's an outdated numbering system from Ancient Prash, it means 'the 66th'. So, the 66th generation of Medicine Women?" Saria ponders this. "Someone was just reading this. Why, to look up Edana? She won't have written anything yet, she's too young." 

"Or to look up some manner of physical ailment. Maybe someone is sick."

Saria turns the book back over to look at the page it was on. "... or, someone got _better_."

"Do not the words 'chronic and incurable' mean that it is not possible to get better from these diseases?" 

"Exactly. Look at the page it's on," she holds it up for him to look at. "_Infertility And Barrenness._A section on being unable to conceive or carry a child to term."

Lock frowns, confused. "A sad topic for anyone who desires to have their own child. But, wait, what is this..." he leans closer to the book. 

"You see it too," Saria traces her finger down the inner fold of the book, between where the pages are bound. "The end of the sentence on one page doesn't match with the sentence on the other. Someone has removed pages from this book."

Another clatter, this time the unmistakable sound of a pile of books falling over. Lock is quick, taking off towards the noise, and before Saria can catch up, she hears a squeal of panic. Definitely not a noise from Lock. She rounds the corner of a bookshelf, to find that Lock has someone pinned on the ground, frantically struggling. She says 'someone', because it's hard to actually tell who they are. Their form flickers like a mirage, indistinct and vague, blending in with the stone floor and then snapping back into being. They're struggling frantically, but Lock is much too big and heavy. 

"<If you dropped your magic for a moment, magician, you would have a better chance of escaping me,>" Lock says in Albainese, with a grunt as he continues to pin them down. 

"<N-no!>" yelps the voice of the person, desperately trying to get away. "<You brute, let me go!>"

Lock does no such thing. "<Are you the one who tore the page out of the book?>"

"<What?>"

Saria moves forward. "<This book. The medical text book.>"

"<I don't know what you're talking about! Who are you... people...>" the person slowly stops struggling, and through the flickering illusion, Saria can make out half of a face staring at her. "<... you're...!>"

In a short flash of light and with a popping sound, the illusion around the person on the ground shatters. It reveals an individual in a cloak, with dark hair cut in a messy bob around their face. Or, perhaps it's only messy because Lock is shoving their face into the floor. Their dark skin shows up all the dust from the ground, and Saria starts to feel a little sorry for them. And moreover... "Lock, maybe you should let them up...? I don't think they're going to hurt us."

Lock frowns, but takes Saria at her word, getting off the cloaked person and offering a hand to help them up. He needn't have bothered, because a gust of wind comes along out of nowhere and lifts them off the ground in a flurry. They grin widely at her. "That's a Mohra for you! Sensing that I'm not an enemy _and_ providing an ambient maen boost! In return, I'll speak some Prashian for you, how's that?"

An ambient maen boost? Saria desperately wants to ask what that means, but Gwenhyfar said part of her advantage is people not knowing she has no idea how Mohra stuff works. So instead she clears her throat. "That's kind of you. But if you're not the one who tore out the page from this book, who is?"

"I have no idea!" cries the stranger. "I was trying to do my own research, but no, before I even get to start reading the section that I _finally_ found, I hear people coming and I panic! But if it's just you, Milady Mohra, and..." they give Lock a sharp look. "Your accompanying _knight_, then I needn't have worried. You're on the side of Her Majesty, aren't you? Or, well, your Princess Alfreisel is on her side anyway."

"I... yes," Saria agrees, not wanting to argue the point. "Are you also...?"

"Oh, I'd sooner die than acknowledge that asshole as king," the stranger chirps, then realises. "Oh goodness, I'm so rude! Let me introduce myself." They sweep a deep bow. "I'm Brenna, Court Magician...'s apprentice! Pleasure to meet you, Milady Mohra, Sir..." they squint at Lock. "What're you called again?"

Lock's expression is difficult to read, but Saria can sense his displeasure. "Lock."

"Sir Lock!" Brenna concludes cheerfully, though Saria can feel the passive aggression behind the smile, even without Mohra senses. They really took being tackled quite personally didn't they.

"Well, um, Apprentice Brenna. What _were_ you reading this book for, if not to deface it?" she asks. 

Brenna opens their mouth, and then pauses. "Hold on a moment." They take a deep breath, closing their eyes, and then breathe out slowly. As they do, Saria sees a strange, shimmering mist leave their lips. "<_Enclose._>"

Saria feels the word in her chest as much as she hears it. The world around her seems to muffle itself, though the library was already quiet, now it is utterly silent. The edges of the room become blurry, as though viewed through an unpolished mirror. She and Lock look around in surprise, before looking back to Brenna, who is grinning.

"Man! There's really nothing like a Mohra! I've never been able to pull off that spell so well!" 

"What is this... magic?" Lock asks, thankfully, before Saria can. "A shield... is it? But to create a dome instead of a flat plane, isn't that needlessly complicated--" He reaches out to touch the edge of the fuzzy looking shield around them, but Brenna smacks his hand.

"It's delicate, don't touch! And I don't know how long it'll hold either, even with a passive maen boost! It's just to muffle our voices, it could never take a hit!" they snap, before turning back to Saria. "I was looking through the book to try and find out what could have caused Lady Dufey to have suddenly recovered from her barren womb and conceived a child."

"Conceived?" Saria echoes. "But Red-- Redmond is her son, isn't he?"

"Indeed! Which is very strange, because in my studies, I found through word of mouth that Lady Dufey and Her Majesty Queen Gwenhyfar suffer from the exact same affliction! It's genetic, they're cousins by blood," Brenna exclaims, gesturing around. "In Queen Gwenhyfar's case, she was never able to conceive a healthy child, though not for lack of trying! So how and why did Lady Dufey manage such a thing? And what's more, with King Ulbrecht, whose line also suffered from a very similar affliction for the males, though that was a well-guarded secret between his Medicine Woman, Orlon, my master, and the Queen."

"So then..." Saria says aloud as she churns over the information. "Red is not only illegitimate, but impossible?"

"Short of a miracle from the gods themselves, pretty much! Or so I was thinking, I wanted to read up on the matter just to see if there was some sort of loophole or special medicine that could be taken or something like that, but if the book's been defaced, it would have been fruitless anyway," they heave a sigh. "I suppose it's not surprising that section of the book's had some wear and tear. Poor Queen Gwenhyfar must have poured over it to try and resolve her difficulties conceiving." 

"It can't have just fallen out," Saria protests, opening the book and feeling the tear again. "It's too rough to have just fallen out, but too precise to be accidental. Someone very carefully, painstakingly took these pages so other people couldn't read them. And with Red's existence coming up as suspicious, it only makes me wonder more..."

"Additionally, that he gives you, what is it Edana said, 'the creeps'," Lock interjects. "And that she can see some sort of strange, horrible thing going on with his maen, there is certainly something afoot here."

"Certainly!" Brenna insists. "Wait, who's Edana?"

"Our Medicine Woman," Saria explains, and watches as Brenna's eyes light up as soon as she says it.

"You mean the little one with red hair and those absolutely _fascinating_ eyes?! Can I meet her? Can I? Oh I'm _desperate_ to know how she did that!" they practically bounce on the spot, getting up in Saria's face. She vaguely notes that their eyes are a particular shade of dark chestnut that reminds her of all the polished wooden furniture in the castle. However, from this close, Saria starts to feel a little uncomfortable. There's an odd smell... no, not a smell. She can't put her finger on it, it's not that Brenna has bad intent, but something's wrong. Saria takes a small step back, and Brenna doesn't follow. The feeling vanishes.

"I... don't see why not? Edana might not want to talk about it, though, she became blind through..." she pauses, and glances to Lock, who quietly grimaces. "... an unfortunate incident."

"I'll be super, suuuuper respectful!" Brenna insists. "You have no idea how much of a kiss-up I can be when the moment calls for it! It's how I get my grumpy old master to teach me anything! Even this whole investigation thing I had to go behind his back to do."

Lock sighs. "I suppose we could. But who is this master you keep mentioning?"

Brenna sighs. "Well, that's a thing. He refuses to tell anyone his name, because faeries might steal it, or something like that. He won't speak at all, actually, which is why he's so hard to learn from in the first place. I just call him Master, and that gets his attention."

"A silent master... how strange," Lock muses. "But, very well. We'll arrange for you to meet Edana. On one condition." 

"Name it," says Brenna.

Lock takes up his sword, and Brenna hops back in alarm. However, he merely holds the pommel out towards her. "Swear on my sword that you will do nothing to harm us. That includes myself, Saria, Princess Alfreisel, Queen Gwenhyfar, Sir Wain, Lady Thaelina, _and_ Edana."

"Okay, I swear."

"I said," Lock narrows his eyes. "Swear it on my sword."

Brenna sighs in an overly dramatic fashion, before placing her hand on Lock's sword pommel. "I hereby swear I will do nothing to harm you, Saria, Princess Alfreisel, Queen Gwenhyfar, Sir Wain, Lady Thaelina, _and_ Edana." She repeats the whole list of names in the same cadence as Lock, almost sarcastically, but her words are honest. "There, is that better?"

Lock inclines his head, putting his sword away. "It is."

"Great!" Brenna cheers, and the barrier around the three of them pops like a bubble, turning back into thin air and shimmering mist. "Then enough hanging around, let's gooooo!" And they skip off ahead, humming a cheerful tune. With a put-upon sigh, Lock follows.

Saria lingers a moment. What was that odd feeling when Brenna got too close? It didn't make them untrustworthy, but... she shakes her head. Brenna could be a valuable source of information, if they were as nosy and keen on researching as Saria thought they might be. With their theory about Red, maybe it will be easier to convince the nobility to turn back away from him as a candidate and see that Orlon, for once, chose wrong. 

And after that, they can figure out just _what_ would make a veteran Mohra choose incorrectly in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Brenna! Yes, they're agender, and extremely genki and optimistic! But what's with this weird master of theirs... hmm...


	13. Chapter 13

"So where is Orlon, at present?" Lock asks Brenna as they lead the way through the halls. "That was our original intent in wandering the castle."

"Beats me! When Orlon doesn't want to be found, he won't be found," Brenna responds, fussily brushing the dust off their dark robes. Saria thinks that they look alarmingly like a raven with all that billowing, dark fabric, particularly the long sleeves, but she doesn't make a comment. Once she looks closely at it, she can see there are tiny, embroidered silver stars towards the hems, which catch the light when Brenna moves and gestures. It's quite pretty, she decides. "You know? He's slippery like that, and I don't think it's just magic. I think he's just really well adjusted to dodging nobility."

Lock makes deliberate eye contact with a pair of noblemen who are staring at their group as they walk past. "An ability we shall have to cultivate ourselves, I am starting to sense."

"We're _years_ off from getting to Orlon's level," Brenna chuckles.

"How long have you been the Court Magician's Apprentice, Brenna?" Saria asks as they move out of the sight line of the nobles, turning a corner and passing through a large courtyard. 

"Oh, gosh, only about five years? And for two of those we weren't even the Court Magicians of the Court of Albaines."

Lock turns to look at her. "Oh? What were you then."

"Just... magicians, I guess?" they shrug, gesturing in the air. In front of them, a foggy image appears of an old dirt road, and a considerably less well dressed Brenna walking along it. "I heard there was a powerful magician out on the south-east coast, and so, being a recently graduated student from the Albaines College of Magical Studies (with absolutely no prospects because maen flow is slowly dying and nobody knows why)... I went looking for him to see if he would take me on as an apprentice. Or at least an intern! I just needed to do _something_ with myself, I couldn't go back to my family's farm and, eugh, do outdoorsy stuff. Mucking out stables, herding livestock, making bread and cheese... please, gods, no, anything but that..." 

"You are getting off track," Lock points out, watching the projected image in the air instead warp to show cows and chickens and pigs. It soon snaps back to the dirt road. 

"Right, yes, so I set off to find him, but it's kinda vague, knowing there's _some sort_ of powerful magician on the south coast, but not exactly where. Before long, I was cold, and tired, and hungry," they sigh, and the image shows a (surely exaggerated) image of Brenna stumbling along the country road, thin-faced and trembling, using a battered old stick to keep themself upright. They eventually collapse in the dirt, just as rain begins to fall. "But, the moment I was about to give up, it happened..."

A man in a long, dark cloak steps into the scene. The fabric of his clothing is made of the same glimmering starlight cloth as what Brenna wears now, but swarms him in such a way that his form is barely recognisable. All around him, the rain stops, like an enormous, invisible umbrella is somewhere above him. His features are concealed behind the cowl of his hood, but Saria can see long black hair tumble out from under it as he reaches a pale hand for Brenna, helping them stand up. 

"I knew it was him the moment I touched his hand," Brenna smiles. "And so I begged him, _please, please take me on as an apprentice! I'll do anything, anything at all! _And I refused to let go of his hand until he said yes."

The man in the image makes several attempts at pushing Brenna off him, including sticking his foot in their chest and even _biting_ their hand, none of which work. Despite the long cloak, Saria can easily make out the defeated slope to the man's shoulders as he finally acquiesces with a resigned nod, and Brenna leaps forward to crush him in a hug. Somehow, Saria feels a little bit sorry for him, watching him weakly pat Brenna on the back. 

"So you essentially forced him," Lock deadpans. 

Brenna shrugs. "Hey, it's a tough world out here for a magician these days, you gotta _hustle_."

"What is... hustle?" 

A new voice calls over to them as they walk. "Hey guys!" yells Reis, waving her arm in the air as she approaches with Wain at her side. "Are you guys okay? We got worried because you still hadn't come back!"

"We are quite fine," Lock says, continuing to walk towards Reis with Saria in tow. "We have even met a new... _boisterous_ companion. This is..." he turns to introduce Brenna, but finds they're not walking with them. He and Saria look behind, to find Brenna has stopped in their tracks, and is pointing ahead. Following their finger, it seems they're pointing at Wain.

"You!!" they gasp. 

Wain, also standing stock still, points at himself. "... me?"

"Yooooouuuuu!!" Brenna's sudden lack of motion becomes a just as sudden _forward _ motion, as they launch themself with the likely aid of magic to run right at Wain. The bewildered young man has no sword to draw, and simply braces himself for impact. Though he likely expected a punch, what he finds instead is that Brenna has wrapped their arms around him. "You big lug! What are you doing _here_ of all places?!"

"What- um, do you know me?" Wain asks, holding his hands up in the air like he expects the smaller magician to set fire to him. Brenna hops back, looking indignant.

"What do you _mean_ do I know you, don't you recognise me?!" Brenna gestures at their face. "Look. Imagine... more mud. The smell of horse manure. The- the stupid daisy chains you used to put on my head!"

Finally, Wain gasps. "Brenna?!" And now it's his turn to point. "But I haven't seen you since we were-- gosh, we must have been thirteen? Fourteen? Whenever it was you left for the college!"

"I was thirteen years, six moons, and eight days old," Brenna announces. "I counted down the hours until I could get out of that backwater place. Good old, rainy old, _miserable_ old Fareach. How did _you_ get here? I thought you loved working on the farm! What about your grandparents?"

An awkward silence settles. Wain's face falls, and Brenna's soon follows as they figure out the unspoken.

"Oh."

"It's okay," Wain says quietly. "It was that big famine, and then the plague that swept through. You remember? A bout eight years back. People were dropping left and right, and my grandparents were frail to begin with, so..." 

"I'm sorry, Wain..." Brenna says quietly, moving forward so they can rest a hand on his arm. "So the farm is...?"

"Gone. The whole place was infected. It killed the crops and deadened the land, too, all around Fareach. It was awful."

"I had no idea it was that bad... hasn't it recovered at all?" Brenna utters, looking down at their feet. "Fareach too, huh..."

Reis butts in. "What do you mean 'Fareach too'? Do plagues happen a lot here?"

"No, no, not at all," Wain reassures. "It's been centuries since anything so bad hit anywhere in Albaines. If you saw it you'd understand, it was like a divine smiting, the entire land is just barren now."

"But there _have_ been plagues like it before," Brenna speaks up. "Just not in Albaines."

"Ah," Saria realises what they might mean. "You're talking about plague and famine like the one that weakened Qi to the point where the peasant uprising happened. I read about that, it was also something that deadened the land for miles, people were starving."

"You mean that big old kingdom that Hindshokhan absorbed 25 years ago?" Reis asks, folding her arms. "None of us were even born yet, I don't think."

"Speak for yourself, Wain and me are both 26!" Brenna says proudly. 

"You were a baby, it doesn't count," Reis sniffs, but then frowns as something seems to occur to her. "Wait... Sudden plague and famine... leading to a peasant uprising... leading to government destablisation... leading to _Hindshokhan sweeping in to fill the power gap_..." she looks slowly towards Saria, to check she's not going down an impossible thought path. 

"It can't be that simple," Lock says, putting a hand to his chin as he contemplates it. "... can it?"

Brenna is looking between all the others, nonplussed. "Can someone fill me in on what we're talking about now?"

"Not here," Wain replies, looking just as concerned as the others. "Let's head back to the old quarters. We've left Edana, Thaelina, and Gwenhyfar alone and it's making me uncomfortable."

"Can we stop back by the Library first?" Saria asks, pieces falling together in her head again. "I want to check some other stuff."

\---

Milya had always scolded her for walking around with her nose in a book. _'If you're going to read, stand still!' _she would say, and Saria can practically hear it now as she wanders the halls on the way back to their little hiding place in the castle. The history book in her hands is a new edition, very recently scribed only 3 years ago. The paper is still crisp and the ink still has that lingering, fresh look to it. She would love to enjoy these factors on their own, but it's the content of the book that she's more intrigued by. Finding one on Hindshokhan's rise to power shouldn't have taken her as long as it did, but she supposes with it being such a recent thing, it's natural for it to not be so fully documented as other historical subjects. 

AG 1235, Qi experiences mass famine and plague, a peasant uprising swiftly follows, Hindshokhan moves in. AG 1237, the smaller nation of Jashrat, neighbouring Hindshokhan, finds themselves in a sudden crisis of succession, nobility squabble, Hindshokhan moves in. AG 1238, middling sized landlocked nations Uhyr, Kivenska, and Densk all fall to Hindshokhan in quick succession, after experiencing civil war, mass famine, and peasant uprisings, in that order. AG 1239, Derland and Licht, small but abundantly rich nations with strong fortifications, are conquered by a natural disaster first - a volcanic eruption that blots out the sun for two weeks - followed by Hindshokhan next. AG 1240, Yamato and Kinzue in the east are next, from another volcanic eruption and a huge civil war again...

And then quiet for five years, before the sudden and violent annexation of Petea in AG 1245. A single night and the capital of Vindhelt falls to an invading force that, somehow, nobody saw coming. Despite Hindshokhan performing this pattern of conquest for _years_, and sitting right on their doorstep once Densk fell, nobody in Petea thought to prepare...? 

"This is way too odd," she mutters, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she thinks. She then yelps with pain, as she recalls the reason why Milya would tell her off for walking with a book. Saria bumps into the back of Brenna with a thud, causing the book to hit her in the face, and then force her to bite down too hard on her lip. "Ow..."

Brenna, it seems, hasn't noticed the impact. They've arrived at the door of their little hide-out, and Edana has opened it. The Medicine Woman squints sightlessly out at them all. "Uh... you have a new person with you."

"We know," Lock says, his voice betraying his exhaustion.

"She's an old friend, it's okay," Wain assures, side-eyeing how Brenna is starting to practically vibrate with excitement. 

"Uhuh..." Edana doesn't seem completely convinced. "Well, come in I guess..."

The group enter the room, with Wain having to steer the over-excited Brenna inside, and once the door is closed behind them, the inevitable explosion occurs.

"HELLO my name is Brenna I've been studying magic for half of my life and my dream is to uncover the source of why magic is diminishing in the world anyway I've always admired Medicine Women for their unique style of alchemic magic passed down through generations and have continually bemoaned how you have to be born into the profession to join it but it seems to me like your eyes are something entirely different from mere alchemy which means you've branched out into entirely different forms of magical experimentation including human experimentation which is totally frowned upon by ethics committees but if it's on yourself and you already did it then what can they even say to refute it right?" 

The room is totally silent, stunned by the waterfall of words that just fell uninterrupted from Brenna's mouth. Reis leans in to Saria's ear and whispers, "How are they doing that without breathing?"

"Uhhh," is all Edana is able to say before Brenna resumes, this time about four inches from her face.

"I've really gotta say this is some of the most impressive transmutation and crystallisation work I've ever seen in my entire life and I've worked under some real masters of the craft in the Academy and more recently with the Court Magician since I became an apprentice so you really have to tell me what on earth you did to pull off this amazing feat without exploding your own head or melting your eyes out of your sockets I mean I know they were damaged in the first place and I can see the scarring around the edges from whatever did it but really though the damage should have made it even _harder_ for you to effectively concentrate the maen in the area much less turn them into a functioning form of aura vision! That's what it does, right, aura vision?"

"Y-yes-" Edana stammers, jolting when Brenna grasps her hands tightly. Saria is suddenly reminded of the images Brenna used to depict them begging the Court Magician for apprenticeship.

"I _knew _it you're absolutely a genius and I simply _have_ to know everything that you did from the moment you thought of the idea to the research - how did you research with _no ability to read _that's astounding - to the experimentation to the moment of fruition because it must have taken you years!"

"I- well it was actually only a few months-"

"WHAT?!" Brenna shrieks, and that's when Lock intervenes, grabbing them by the back of their cloak and pulling them away from Edana. "Hey! I wasn't done!"

"I believe you promised you would be _respectful_ in your questioning," Lock scowls at them. "Yelling at her from a few inches away is not respectful."

"But I_ have to know!" _Brenna whines, dangling from Lock's grip like they expect this to happen a lot. 

"Perhaps you'd get an answer," Wain suggests. "If you actually waited a moment and gave her space to talk?"

"... oh! Right!" Brenna turns their gaze back on Edana, expectantly.

Edana, for her part, seems to be recovering from the verbal barrage. Gwenhyfar is patting her shoulder comfortingly, while Thaelina just looks incredibly tired. Saria supposes that the two members of the Albainese court _would_ be somewhat more used to Brenna's... exuberant personality. After collecting herself, Edana speaks. "If you've read the texts, then you already know how I made my eyes. It was just a matter of concentrating maen in the area until it supersaturated the remaining organic material."

"But if _you've_ read the texts," Brenna counters. "Then you should know that it's never been successfully done without the supersaturation running out of control and destroying the organic material! Your eyes should have popped like grapes!"

"Well I'm controlling it," Edana says shortly. "They're my eyes and they'll hold however much maen I want them to."

Brenna shakes their head. "That can't be possible, the level of control needed would be astronomical! You'd need to be controlling it in your sleep!"

"Yes," Edana frowns, her shoulders beginning to bunch up. She's getting defensive, Saria realises. "You think I can't? You think I'm not good enough to do that?"

"I'm not saying _that, _I'm saying that _nobody_ is good enough to do that! Not even my own master! You'd have to be some kind of freak of nature!"

Edana bristles. Uh oh. "<Well maybe your master's just a hack!>" she snaps in Albainese.

Brenna gasps like they've been struck. "<You take that back!>" 

"<Why don't you come over here and make me, you upstart crow!>" 

"<Why I oughta--!>" Brenna's feet start kicking in the air as they try to escape Lock's grip, their accept slipping from that of a polished academic to a peasant farmer. "<Lemme at 'er! I'll knock 'er block off Ah swear on me mam!>" 

"I believe you agreed," Lock says darkly, with one hand on his sword. "Not to bring harm to anyone, including Edana."

"She's insulting my master! Nobody does that and gets away with it!" Brenna insists.   
  
  


"Here, let me take them," Wain offers, and Lock hands Brenna over by the collar even as they continue to kick and curse in a manner Saria would never have the nerve to do in front of other people, much less a Queen. "I'll go calm them down," he gives an apologetic smile to them all, and walks off into a side room with Brenna, closing the door. 

Reis gives a long, low whistle. "Well, that was... yup."

"Goodness," Thaelina sighs. "That one doesn't come to court often, but whenever they do, it's always... lively. Gods only know why the Court Magician picked them."

"They _are_ very talented, I've seen them work," Gwenhyfar chips in. "But perhaps their personality needs a little tempering."

"Are you alright, Edana?" Lock asks, moving a little closer to her. 

"I'm fine," Edana replies grumpily, looking away from everyone with folded arms. "I can take way more than whatever they can throw at me."

"Just because you can, doesn't mean you have to."

Edana goes red in the cheeks, rounding on Lock instead. "I said I'm fine, so stop trying to baby me! I'm not helpless, I'm not stupid, and I'm not worthless!"

Reis puts her hands up placatingly. "Woah, woah, nobody said any of that--"

"Shut up! I know you all think it!" Edana snaps. "I'm the best damn Medicine Woman you've ever met, with or without my eyes! Because I work hard, all the damn time! Ugh!"

She attempts to storm out of the room, but ends up slamming into a wall instead, stumbling backwards. Lock tries to steady her, but she shrugs him off, finding the actual door this time and leaving down the hall. Lock stands there, looking lost at how this ended. "Should I... follow her?" he asks, looking to the others for help. 

"Maybe give her some time to cool off," Thaelina suggests with a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure she won't stay mad at you forever."

Reis rubs the back of her neck, grimacing. "Are all mages equipped with hair-trigger tempers or what? And where'd all those accusations come from anyway..."

"Didn't we agree that going around by ourselves was risky...?" Lock asks uneasily, still looking after where Edana went. "She went alone..."

"Mm.. yeah, but I'm not good at talking feelings..." Reis replies, before slowly looking to Saria. "... you went and talked to her last time she was upset and it turned out alright, right?"

Oh dear, she set a precedent. It's not like Saria feels particularly confident in her ability to console people who are in distress, more often than not she feels distressed herself by the concept. But the idea of Edana stewing in feelings alone, or worse, getting attacked in the castle when she literally can't see it coming... 

"Alright, I'll go get her," Saria agrees, stepping out of the doorway. "If... if we're not back in an hour, will you come get us?"

"No problem," Reis flashes her a thumbs up and a grin, before leaning in to wink. "Don't worry, you're too nice for anyone to get mad at, even Edana."

Saria isn't sure about that, but she nods anyway, and tries to follow where Edana must have gone.

\---

It's asking a little much of Saria for her to call Edana's name while she searches for her. She tried once, and it echoed too loudly and startled her, so she scrapped the idea. Instead, she feels her hand along the wall, trying to imagine herself in Edana's shoes. Alright, she's blind, and mad, and storming off wherever she needs to go to get away from people. If she's Edana, she would go...

Her fingers tingle where they touch the stone. They feel like static electricity, like the remains of a burn. It hurts a little, but she doesn't pull back. What is this...? 

_Edana_, her gut tells her. It feels like Edana's anger. When the stones on the wall turn cold, Saria puts her hand against the other wall, and finds the heat again, the anger. No, not just anger. Fear. There's fear in here, heavy and buzzing unsettlingly. A feeling Saria is well familiar with. It's getting stronger too, as the anger fades, replacing it, consuming it. Oh Edana...

The trail stops at the courtyard from earlier - the one with the little fountain, where Saria had left her boots before. Sure enough, Edana is sat down against the singular tree that's growing in the meagre light that comes in overhead, curled up and resting her head on her knees. Saria steps in over the threshold. "Edana?"

Edana's long, curly locks of red hair hide her like a shawl. "What," she says, muffled by her knees.

"I just wanted..." Saria begins, then hesitates. 

"Go on. You can talk. You can tell me I'm being stupid and lashing out at people. It's awful right? I'm acting like _her_," Edana mutters. "I know he didn't mean it like that. I shouldn't have said all those things."

"Edana..." Saria moves over to her side, and sits next to her. The grass is soft but the ground under it is cold. "You're not stupid. And you're not her."

"Then why am I yelling like her?" Edana asks, hunching up further. "You don't know what you're talking about anyway. I am her."

"Just because you're her daughter..."

"I'm _more_ than her daughter," Edana lifts her head, her eyes red and cheeks streaked with tears. "That little crow is right, I am a freak of nature."

Saria frowns. "I... don't think you are, you're just really talented. I couldn't even wrap my head around half of what you two were saying, and I've read all the materials you have, I just don't understand them as well as you."

"Read all the materials..." Edana utters, lapsing into silence for a while. Saria lets her, sensing she's mulling something over, and not wanting to rush her. Sure enough, she eventually speaks again. "Have you ever thought about how weirdly identical me and Elana are?"

"You're... not twins?"

"No. She was born two years before me," Edana picks at the grass around her. "Epana, Efana, Etana, Elana, and then me. I'm one of five. And if you stood us all together, you'd think we were miracle identical quintuplets. But we were all born multiple years apart from each other. Epana is eleven years older than me." 

"I... see..." Saria says, though she really doesn't, and Edana can tell, because she continues.

"Now consider that none of us have any traits that would make us resemble a father. Elana dyes her hair black on purpose, but we're all natural red heads, with blue eyes. We're all the same height, have the same shoe size, could swap garments with ease. There is absolutely nothing that diversifies us from each other, except that I came out really good at alchemy and magic and maen manipulation in general, and my sisters did not."

That is indeed very strange. And Edana never _has_ mentioned a father, though Saria just assumed that he was either dead or out of the picture. 

Edana is watching her for her reaction now, as much as her sightless eyes can. "Saria, have you ever read about something called a homunculus?"

Saria wracks her brain. "I... have, a long time ago. It's an artificial human, I think? A human being made with the intervention of magic."

"That's right," Edana affirms softly. "Myself and my sisters are identical to each other. We are also identical to our mother. Using magic, she forewent the need for a father in conceiving us. There are certainly methods of creating homunculi that are even more divorced from usual methods of conception - some of which don't even need a womb to carry the child in - but by the textbook definition, that's what I am. A homunculus. A freak of nature that shouldn't exist naturally."

"Oh Edana..." Saria says, putting a hand on her arm gently. 

"I don't want pity. I certainly don't want people in general knowing, in part because it's illegal in most countries to create a homunculus in any sense, and also because people like that crow will get nosy and try to pick me apart," she pulls a face like she bit a sour lemon. "I think I'd rather die. But it's my odd conception that makes it so easy for me to change my body, and control my maen to the extent I do for my eyes - because my mother was doing it, designing me to be just how she wanted, since I was in the womb. The crow's right that most people couldn't make these eyes work. I just count on people not knowing enough about how maen works for it to seem implausible that I can."

Even Saria, with her wide knowledge from book reading, has to admit that she hadn't even considered the possibility of Edana and her sisters as homunculi. The homunculi she'd read about were pale and sickly things, suffering as they tried to live in a world they weren't meant to, devoid of souls and therefore devoid of maen. Though, those were the ones created from more extreme means. From the sounds of it, what Vivianne Brillia had done was more like cloning herself within herself, something that was indeed found in nature... but only in some species of lizard. 

"So, yeah," Edana shrugs, like she's trying to get the whole thing off her shoulders. "That's what I mean when I say I am her."

"But you're still _not_ her," Saria insists. "You might be genetically identical, but so are you and your sisters. Would you say that _you_ are Elana?"

Edana blinks at her. "Well... no..."

"Or Epana, or Efana, or- or, uh--"

"Etana. No, I guess not. We're pretty different as siblings. But I'm the one that mother selected as her successor, because I was the one that finally came out magically adept."

"That doesn't matter, if you're basing this on pure genetics, you're no more like your mother than you are like your sisters. I know I've only met Elana and your mother, but you all strike me as fairly different people with different opinions and feelings. You- you feel different, to me."

Edana's eyes are wide. "I do?"

"You do. I had this funny uncertain feeling the whole time I was near your mother. Like I was waiting for something to happen. She was really good at hiding her awful intentions..."

"Hah, yeah, I get that..."

"And with Elana, while she's not unpleasant or cruel, I knew she was really holding herself away from us and saw us mostly as something to profit off."

"That's Elana for you, always with the price in mind," Edana chuckles to herself. "She dyed her hair so she'd look different from us. Efana cut hers really short. And I haven't seen Etara for years, so who knows what she did to hers..."

"Exactly. You're all individuals. No matter where you came from, you decided to be who you are yourself," Saria assures her. "So... so, you know..." she falters, but Edana picks it up for her.

"So pull it together, Edana, you're doing just fine," she finishes, with a small smile. "Thanks, Saria. You sure you didn't know you were a Mohra? You're actually pretty good at this advisory thing."

"Eh? Me? No, no no, I'm just making it up as I go!" Saria insists, feeling her cheeks flush. 

"Aren't we all? Or, well, I have been ever since I've been traveling with you guys," Edana replies, standing up and stretching, before offering a hand down to Saria, which she takes. "But, y'know, I don't think it's a bad way to live. It's certainly not boring."

Feeling her flustered blush leave her, she agrees. "Yeah..." Certainly not boring, with all the political intrigue they've stumbled into, with Ilra Ka, and the succession crisis, and Red's unnatural conception...

...

Wait.

Wait wait wait--

"Saria? Your aura just fluttered around like crazy--"

"We need to go back to the others, right now! I think I just figured out this whole thing!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuun! How is Saria going to break the news? What even IS the news? 
> 
> Thank you for your patience everyone, updates will be slow now that I'm back at work!


End file.
